Edelweiss
by Dorky Kyuui
Summary: War knows no bounds. It's like dandelion seeds swirling in a gust of wind, flickering towards lands across the globe. It sprouts fear, hate, destruction. It sprouts courage, loyalty, honor. But only in its darkest hour, and in its finest hour, it blossoms hope. And perhaps even love.
1. Prologue

**Edelweiss**

**Rating:** T+

**Genre:** Historical Fiction / Drama

**Disclaimer:** This story is historical fictional, and based solely on the series _Band of Brothers_ and the actors who portrayed the men of Easy Company. Any and all recognizable characters mentioned are owned by HBO, Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, etc. and thus do not belong to me. I mean no disrespect whatsoever to the real veterans of Easy Company, 506th PIR, 101st Airborne, or the nurses, medics, and doctors of the 42d Field Hospital.

**Summary:** War knows no bounds. It's like dandelion seeds swirling in a gust of wind, flickering towards lands across the globe. It sprouts fear, hate, destruction. It sprouts courage, loyalty, honor. But only in its darkest hour, and in its finest hour, it blossoms hope. And perhaps even love.

**A/N: **I always tend to hesitate before posting stories, but after fifteen chapters with this one, I realized I invested quite a bit into this story haha. To be honest, I've had this story idea floating in my head for the past five years or so, ever since I first watched _Band of Brothers_. I watched it again during the summer and _Edelweiss_ was gradually pieced together. It's... _different_ from most, I think. It's different from what I usually write about and how I write it, so it was a bit of a fun challenge for me. The major historical events that are mentioned in the story are relatively accurate, though there are some tweaks and details changed to comply with the story. Anyways, my rambles are all said and done. I hope you guys enjoy the story!

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_It should've been us_.

She clenched and unclenched her hands. Blood that dried in the cold winter air covered her fingertips and palms and sleeves in its crimson mess. Whether it belonged to the soldier who had the gaping hole in the side of his neck, or the soldier with the obliterated forearm, or the soldier with the shrapnel-ridden chest, or any of the numerous others—she didn't know. It was the same sticking blood that stained her hands, leaving a sickeningly familiar warmth that should have faded long ago.

The smell of gunpowder and smoke and sulfur permeated the chilling air. It was hours after the bombardment, a whole night. But it felt like ages of flustered shouts, earth-shattering booms, and wounded men. Her ODs were either torn or singed, her dented helmet rested atop the dark locks haphazardly tossed into a knotted bun, her pale face covered with dirt and sweat and blood. She was a mess. A walking mess of a woman in the Army Nurse Corps.

_It _should've_ been us_.

Her clenched hands were stuffed into the deep pockets of her green field jacket. She was beginning to grow sick of seeing those tarnished hands. But a part of her grew afraid. Tolerance made her get this far. It kept her mind intact, her emotions clear, and her intentions true. Yet she grew close to letting all that diminish after one night.

She couldn't let that happen now. Not after all this time. At the mere thought of it all, her throat tightened and her stomach coiled. It couldn't happen. Not now.

Quiet chatter and dull footsteps surrounded her. Men of another battalion, one not of her own, were tending to the wounded. Other soldiers caught in the town's bombardment, those from the Ardennes Forest's shelling. Men that were relatively fit and healthy, given their company's circumstances, now laid on make-shift cots and blankets along the cobblestone streets. It was a shame. Civilians of Bastogne and other displaced villagers were caught up in the German's recent assault as well, and she felt that shame burn through conscience. They didn't deserve this tragedy. They were all innocent.

Her dark mahogany eyes drifted around the stone courtyard and she felt her heart wrench.

_They were all innocent…_

She watched as the raven-haired medic splinted the leg of another soldier's. His expression was eerily calm, almost vacant. Even as he offered words of some type of comfort, even mustering up some type of a little smile, she could still sense the hollowness in those gestures. They stood no more than yards away, and her eyes were beginning to grow heavy and strained, but she could still make this out. That only seemed to have made the tug in her chest that much more difficult to bear.

Soon he stood up from his crouched position, wiping his hands on a grey piece of cloth he had found. His head turned to the other direction, towards the desolate church that once stood so proudly. And as he stood there, she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. He turned around once more, glancing around the cobblestone streets and stone courtyard. But she soon found herself turning her head to look away when his dark gaze met hers.

Her hands dug deeper into her jacket, trying to kindle some type of warmth against the cold that entangled her limbs. Yet as she did this, she felt something soft and damp brush against her knuckles.

As she pulled out her left hand, her vision blurred slightly. The small white flower, delicate and vulnerable with petals of light felt forming a pale star, now rested between her fingertips. Its stem and petals tinged faintly with brown decay, but it made no difference.

_Bryant. Schmidtz. Napier._ Her breath steamed in the winter air._ Weisburg. Borgne. Camacho._

She bit her lower lip and tucked her chin to her chest. Her fingers tingled with numbness, as did her mind. The names were coming to her memory slowly. The faces that went their names came even slower.

_Lee. Salas. _She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes._ Langley. Wilkerson. Isaac._ _Renée._

Numbness coursed through her mind as the back of her head rested against the cold stone wall behind her. For the first time in a long while, she was mentally and physically exhausted. After recalling those names she had etched into her memory, emotional exhaustion was not too far behind. She missed some, she knew. But she couldn't bring herself to say them all.

"Nurse! For Christ's sake, someone!"

She opened her eyes and found an anxious soldier hopping out of a jeep. Two men laid on the back hatch, their uniforms blackened with a blast's debris and caked with blood. On the front end was another, unconscious as he laid there with a burnt stub that was once his left forearm.

"Winnie, get those strips of cloth out from the front of the ambulance. We'll get the men in the back." A plump red-headed woman nodded instantly. Another woman, shorter in stature with chestnut hair pinned behind her head, gathered her cloth satchel and shouted over her shoulder. "C'mon Angel, we've got men to save."

_Angel_.

No matter how many times she's heard someone call her that, a part of her always hated that name.

Slowly she rose to her feet, wincing at the tired muscles in her arms and legs. Exhaustion reached its peak as soon as her body began to move. She swayed slightly, but quickly reached for the wall behind her and steadied herself. The tiny flower still rested between her fingers, still as soft and delicate as it always was. A smear of blood had now blemished one of its light felts, but it made it no less of the flower that it was.

Across the way, the raven-haired medic watched her intently. His dark brown eyes fixated on her, scrutinizing and weary. She could feel it.

With one last glance, she placed the flower into the button slit on the front of her field jacket. Suppressed groans and whimpers of agony hung in the air. Burnt wool and sulfur wafted through her nostrils. Blood still caked onto the palms of her hands and fingers. She reached for her canteen and took a quick gulp before pouring the rest onto her stained hands, rubbing the sticky mess off as best she could.

As she walked towards the first jeep, her mind cleared and her previous dread had dissipated. Exhaustion was no longer something she could be concerned with. Subconsciously, she touched the flower on the slit of her jacket.

Her instincts took her to the man the medics had lowered onto a make-shift cot. His face was red and swollen as he tried to make his pain intelligible. He couldn't be any older than eighteen years old.

"Fucking shit," he gurgled between breaths and gasps. "Fucking krauts! Oh God…"

His right leg was mangled with varying bits of shrapnel and his uniform had been singed and blackened. Deep gashes and lacerations could be made out from under the blood-soaked bandages around his neck. Her stomach clenched. But she braved the torrents of hesitations and reached for the last clean bandage in her satchel.

"Oh God… I—I'm gonna die," he whimpered. "Nurse… I—I don't…"

"Shh… It's gonna be alright," she soothed softly. The whimpers continued as she glimpsed at his leg. Pale hands tarnished with grime and faded blood secured the undone cloth around the soldier's thigh. Mahogany orbs clashed with ebony pools in an instant and she felt her throat tighten.

"We got ya, Corporal," the Cajun lilt in his voice was unmistakable. He tore through the soldier's ragged pants and picked out the larger pieces of shrapnel, working silently despite the sharp cries that now pierced the air.

She turned her head and gathered up a small smile as she applied pressure to the bandage across the soldier's neck. Where moments ago the cloth was fresh and clean, it was now soaked with crimson pools. His gasps were getting less and less comprehensible. Panic and pain quickly took hold of his breath.

"Hey. No, look at me. Look at _me_, soldier," she held his chin in place to leave him no choice. His left eye was swollen shut, but his right flicked to meet her gaze. It was a light green color, sheened with a thin layer of translucent tears. But still, she smiled. "What's your name? Your _name_, soldier?"

"B… Ben," he said between breaths. "B… St—Stover."

"Alright then, Ben," she said quietly. Blood began to trickle down her fingers, but her expression remained calm, gentle. "My name's Emeline. You gotta stay with me, you hear? Keep your eyes on me. That's right. You gotta relax your legs. We're gonna patch you up, Ben. Everything's gonna be alright."

Her gaze lifted once more and she found the raven-haired medic glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Shrapnel fragments were still embedded into Stover's leg, now smaller and impossible to reach without surgery. The medic cursed silently but tried to clean it as best he could.

From that moment on, the nurse worked intently. Her fingers nimble and her actions swift as she sewed the gaping slits on the soldier's neck, as she applied the syrette of morphine to his other thigh, as she and the medic quickly dug through his leg for the metal fragments with nothing more than a knife and forceps.

Every action and movement proved efficient and immediate, but her mind had wandered elsewhere. Far from the battles of Bastogne, far from the reaches of this war. Before the 42d Field Hospital reached the shores of Normandy, before she became a registered nurse under California law. She remembered days walking through her town, one nestled beside the sandy shores and the expansive blues of oceans and skies.

She remembered chatting with Kathy and Georgia as they walked down the main street to the theaters; remembered riding her bike to their houses down the street from hers. They'd spend the whole day talking about how they hated Mr. Edlestein's Algebra class, and how they loved how Bradley Lenoire winked at them when they walked down their middle school halls. She remembered that tall English oak tree at the end of her street; the one that towered over her like an earth-borne giant, and casted fractured shadows across her skin when she sat under its shade during the hot summers. She remembered sitting on those sandy shores of the beach until sundown, enjoying nothing but her own thoughts and the gentle sway of ocean blues.

Better days. Those were better days.

* * *

_We are now in this war. We are all in it — all the way. Every single man, woman and child is a partner in the most tremendous undertaking of our American history. We must share together the bad news and the good news, the defeats and the victories — the changing fortunes of war._

_**President Franklin D. Roosevelt – December 9, 1941**_

_**Edited: February 14, 2013**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Edelweiss**

_This war does not and must not stop for one single instant.  
Our fighting men know that. Those of them who are moving forward through jungles against lurking Japs — those who are landing at this moment, in barges moving through the dawn up to strange enemy coasts — those who are diving their bombers down on the targets at roof-top level at this moment — every one of these men knows that this war is a full-time job and that it will continue to be that until total victory is won._

_**President Franklin D. Roosevelt – September 8, 1943**_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Fourth of June, 1944.

Two years since Emeline Frey had left her little town of Oxnard. Almost two years since she's even stepped foot on American soil. The year before came the first anniversary but even then, even in that moment, it was still difficult for her to fully grasp.

Her dark mahogany eyes lifted from the open letter that laid on her lap. Clammy hands had crinkled the frayed edges, time and Italian heat had tinged it to a dull beige. A few words had been smudged somehow during her travels. Mud, rain, sweat—she couldn't tell which. After reading it so many times throughout the last few months, she already knew the words by heart. She could practically hear his voice as she read them.

_My little sister on a plane. Hell, I'd love to see that, Em. You gave us hell and then some when we tried getting you on that damn oak tree down the block. Remember that?_

If only he could see her now, she mused with a little smile. There she was, sitting on a C-46 bound for England. A far cry from that old English oak tree with the ugly notches on the trunk that made it easy to climb, and the curvy branches they used to sit on and scrape countless knees against. She always sat on the ground when they scaled that bark, watching them with either dread or excitement swelled beneath her breast as they tried to reach for those sky-kissed branches. This time, though, she wasn't watching. She was up there, amid the skies, almost as if she were sitting beside them on the highest arm of that tree.

_Ah, but I know you'll do fine. Flight nurse, field nurse, doesn't matter. You're still a great nurse, and you're gonna be a great nurse wherever you go. Don't be beating yourself up over something you can't control. Keep going, keep at it. It's the only thing we can do. Two years, Em. We've been at this for two years, it's gotta be close. After all that's happened there's no turning back now. Give 'em hell, 'cause you know we'll do the same._

Personnel of the 42d had pulled out of the Mediterranean, along with a number of other field and evac hospitals. The battle was gearing towards central Europe now, closer and closer to the heart of the war, right on Germany's doorstep. Perhaps Sebastian was right, she mused; maybe this war was coming to a close soon.

A surgical technician walked in front of her, obscuring her view of one of the small square windows across the way. Her thoughts diminished and she tucked her letters back into her small leather-bounded notebook, in between the thin pages where she had found them last. Conversations and voices drowned in the unending hum inside the C-46. Bits and pieces of it rose to her ears. The last time they were in England, the girls they met, the food and beer they drank, the things they missed back home. At one point, the EM to Emeline's left tapped her by the arm, raising his voice as he got her attention.

"Ain't that right, Emmy? Those girls are gremlins when it comes to those damn Hershey bars! A man can't even walk around camp with one in his pocket with those two around. I had one in my jacket and left it with the girls for a few minutes. I come back and it's half-eaten."

He had motioned to the sleeping nurses across of them. Both were leaning against one another and lost in their world of dreams, blissfully unaware of the pout the young man had on his face. How the conversation had gotten to her friends' crazed sugar tendencies, she hadn't a clue. But it made it all the more difficult for Emeline not to smile.

"You're _still _holding a grudge against them for that? That was almost a month ago."

"Hey, hey! I like chocolate too, y'know. I'm too nice for my own good for letting two girls get away with stealing it. They took some from the last supply drop too."

"I'll give you two more Hershey bars when we reach our outpost then," she said with a chuckle.

That seemed to have brightened his mood. "I'll hold it to ya, Emmy."

With a small shake of her head, the nurse was lost within random musings. A mental note was made on the brim of her mind and stored within its depths. Its importance wasn't dire, but it would've been nice to make it up to Timothy Camden. She just needed to find someone who had two extra Hershey bars. The thought made her smile again.

On the steel bench before her, her friends still slept. Rhonda McCormick sat on the left, a slender-figured woman with wavy wheat-colored hair. Cool cerulean eyes, observant and critical, were now closed, lost within dreams and sleep. Steven Piper and Frank Lieberman, two of their medics, often joked that she was their platoon's pin-up girl. Few would argue to say otherwise. Smooth fair skin, pink bow-shaped lips and high cheekbones gave Rhonda a look that many were in awe of and, to some extent, was the source of envy. Back in her hometown in New York, she was a pageant queen of sorts. Despite that, though, Rhonda hated every second of it. Claimed she didn't mind the stares as much, but expectations of feminine etiquette and romanticized home life wore her thin.

'They talk about it a lot back home, that's a given. But I couldn't give a damn about what they think anymore,' she once said. 'They think a dame shouldn't get her hands dirty. A girl should hold down the fort back home if men go off to war. The day after Papa told me that, I enrolled in the nursing program at the university. And the day of Pearl Harbor, I signed up for the Army Nurse Corps. They say not to get my hands dirty? Damn _that_ to hell. I'll go elbow deep in it if I want.'

Everyone understood that well enough.

Leaning against Rhonda's arm was Winnie Balfour, a plump young woman shorter in stature. She had a sweet-natured face, almost childish at times; lightly tanned skin, soft round cheeks, and small pouty lips. Her dark auburn hair was always curled and pinned behind her head, and her deep emerald eyes were often pictured windows of her cheerful moods. Emeline grew attached to that side of her after a few days. That optimism.

At only twenty-two years old, Winnie Balfour was among the youngest in their platoon, as well as among the newest. Just shy of four months since her assignment to the 42d Field Hospital made her as green as any other recruit out of training. But the beachhead of Anzio and the hot hills of the Allies' advancing frontlines stood to be her proving ground. Random bouts of heavy artillery and mortar fire, endless queues of scarred and battle-torn men—Winnie had embraced it all with diligence. Relying on the new nurse after that only came naturally.

Outside the small square window in front of her, formations of cottages and expansive green farmlands took shape. Even in the distance, the outlines of tall country houses and villages could be distinguished. Emeline shifted in her place on the steel bench, sitting up properly with her notebook and satchel on her lap and her wool garrison cap in her hands.

Before long, Rhonda roused from her groggy state. Her cool blue eyes were bleary, unfocused. The hum of the engines rattled in her eardrums and she sat upright in her seat. "What time is it?"

The tiny smile hadn't left Emeline's lips. "Time for you two to get up, apparently."

Loss of her make-shift pillow made Winnie jolt upright. She blinked her emerald green eyes repeatedly and glanced around the plane in bewilderment.

"Morning sunshine," Emeline greeted happily.

"What happened?"

"We're gonna be landing soon. Probably best if you girls got up now. Camden'll have fun seeing you two tumble out of your seats if you go back to snoozing."

Winnie's dazed words were lost within the unending drone of engines. For a moment, guilt had sprouted in the back of Emeline's mind as she watched her friends gather their bearings. Less than two days ago the 42d Field Hospital received news of their transfer to the European Theater. Since then, they had been on the constant move. By convoy, by boat, now by plane. Sleep in any form was hard to come by.

Within minutes, the C-46 approached one of the long tarmacs of Upottery Airfield. The landing went as smoothly they had hoped, safely and without an injury in tow. By Emeline's account, that was all that mattered. The lone doors of the plane ramped onto the runway and the cargo plane's engines were suddenly silenced. By 1030 that morning, they were officially landed.

"Welcome to England, Winnie," Emeline said with a small smile. A twinkle of excitement shone readily in those emerald orbs.

Emeline stood up from her seat, readjusting the sleeves of her button-up and tugging at the beige tie around her neck. She frowned slightly at the oddness. After months it almost seemed strange to be in the fitted skirts and jackets of their service uniforms. Ever since their campaign had started, the women spent their days wearing men's coveralls and trousers, shirts that hung loosely over their limbs and stray cloths or clips that held back slicked and tangled hair.

Now their uniforms were freshly pressed and newly-issued, drab green and beige as any GI on that side of the Atlantic. Their faces were fresh and vibrant, some with a light touch of makeup, and their hair had long been washed and shiny, donning modest waves and curls or simple hair buns. Had anyone seen them no one would've guessed that these women, pretty and primed, had just come from their own share of this war.

Sunlight peeked over the jagged silhouettes of tumid grey clouds. Wet asphalt and dewy swards of distant knolls wafted through their senses. Damp English air, thick and fresh from recent drizzles, clung to the pores of their faces. Erected tents and buildings of the airbase, large white hangers filled with C-46s and C-47s, trucks and jeeps parked along the strip of the runway. It was all a familiar sight.

Emeline and Rhonda were impassive to the number of uniforms that walked to and fro, but Winnie looked around in distinct surprise. "Is this everyone in the 42d?"

"Just about. First and Third Platoon seem to have gotten here before us."

"It's… smaller than I expected."

The older nurses shared a look of amusement between them. Moments like these often remind them that Winnie was only a few months into her trek of this war.

"We're lucky enough to have at least five nurses in each of our platoons. Field hospitals are always smaller than evacs." Rhonda glanced her friend's way and smiled faintly. "You've forgotten the chain of evacuations already, Win? And here I thought you were as sharp as a knife for a nurse."

"I-I'm just surprised is all," explained Winnie. "Seeing everyone together now… I guess I wasn't really expecting it. I knew we were small, but… Well, I mean—won't we be overworked real easy if it's always _this_ small of a platoon?"

Rhonda chuckled. "You almost sound like you expect a whole battalion of nurses to support a single infantryman, Winnie."

One nurse rolled her eyes playfully while the other huffed in embarrassment. "Now you're just being silly."

"Jesus Christ. I was starting to think you girls got left behind!" a voice called out behind them.

All three turned around. Standing beside a ¼-ton jeep was a relatively petite woman, slim-figured with an oval face and rosy full lips. Her short chestnut curls were pinned out of her face, and her dark brown eyes gleamed with a mirthful spark. One look at the grin upon those lean features and two of the nurses let out a laugh, a weak chortle strangled between relief and happiness.

Rhonda engulfed her in a hug instantly. "Good God, you crazy little munchkin. You have no idea how glad we are to see you, Jane."

"Aw, tell me something I don't know, doll," Jane chuckled. Her attention turned to Emeline and she smiled warmly, pulling the dark-haired nurse into a tight hug. "How goes it, Angel? Last time we saw you girls was on the back of a supply truck going God knows where."

"It's as well as it can be." Unwilling, and perhaps unable, to evoke memories from months past, Emeline turned and motioned to their plane with a slight grin. "Looks like Second Platoon came a little late to this party though, huh?"

Jane made a _tsk_ sound. "Late as always. Third got here fifteen minutes before you did. We got here well over half an hour ago."

"Missed us that badly, eh Jan?"

"Are you kidding? I haven't even seen half these guys in almost a year! After that damn fiasco at Anzio we lost touch with almost everyone in 42d besides HQ. Too much has happened since we got deployed." Despite her lackluster tone, she managed to scrounge up a hearty smile as she sighted the petite nurse beside Emeline. "And I guess new faces in our platoons are some them. Lieutenant…?"

Winnie smiled. "Winnie Balfour, ma'am. Just joined Second Platoon a couple months back."

"Jane Vinson. Good to have you with us, Winnie. If Emeline and Rhonda here took you under their wing then you're in pretty damn good hands." She turned and motioned another woman behind her, standing idly beside the army-issued jeep. "Caswell? Girls, this is Leanne Caswell. Barely joined First Platoon a month or so back. Leanne, this is Rhonda McCormick and Emeline Frey. And, 'course, Winnie Balfour."

Leanne quickly stood beside the older nurse at the mention of her name. A meek smiled graced across her lips and her gaze soon fell downcast. She was a young nurse, almost looking as if she were still a teenager with such an attractive and youthful face. Small plump cheeks matched her thin rosy lips, and a fair complexion gave her a pretty look. Sleek black hair was curled and pinned, and crystal blue eyes peered up at them every now and then as they spoke. Timid in nature, from what Emeline could make out, and awfully shy. Some part of her wondered if Leanne had really seen the field hospitals with her own eyes. Nevertheless, the corners of Emeline's lips curled in its usual kindhearted smile.

"How old are you, Leanne?"

"Twenty-one, ma'am," her voice was amazingly soft and feminine. "But… my birthday is coming up this month. So I'll be twenty-two by the 26th."

"You would've had me fooled. You look like you could still be in high school." Rhonda feigned a quiet cough. "No offense, Leanne."

"Oh—no, don't worry, ma'am. I get that quite a lot, really."

"Which camp did you train in, Leanne?" Winnie's voice held the twinge of eager curiosity it always had when she asked questions. "I was stationed at North Carolina myself. Camp Butner. Not even half a day's drive from where I live. It almost felt like some kinda field trip the whole time I was there, to be honest."

"C—Camp Carson. At Colorado. Before that, I lived in Maryland. Or rather… Washington D.C. My father… He's a congressman in D.C. so…"

"Christ… You don't say! I bet he didn't take too kindly to see you off to war then." Deep blue eyes flicked towards Jane's direction. "Did you even know you had a congressman's daughter in your platoon this whole time, Lieutenant?"

Jane cleared her throat, her fingers brushing off invisible specks of dirt on her shoulder. "It's 1st Lieutenant, actually. And yes, I know well enough who Leanne is. I've been taking care of Caswell here when I can, y'know. God knows what would happen to a congressman if his daughter got lost in a war."

Winnie straightened in her place and saluted. "1st Lieutenant."

The formalities didn't surprise Emeline or Rhonda as much as the rank uttered did. Both honed their gaze on the shoulder loops of Jane's jacket. Eventually they too straightened in the place and saluted as well. Grins were tempting to display but they refrained as best they could.

"Congratulations, ma'am."

"We had the fullest confidence in you, ma'am."

Jane's lips quirked a tad more than its usual grin as she saluted. "Thank you kindly. Now I'm gonna say this to all of you once. Call me ma'am again and I'll clout ya on the head. I'm only a few years older than most of you. Twenty-six, for Christ's sake…"

Rhonda and Emeline chuckled. Winnie blinked in surprise. The older nurse wasn't nearly as formal as 1st Lieutenant O'Conner in their platoon. Grace O'Conner often wore her insignias like they were a badge of honor from Roosevelt himself. Besides the earlier quip, Jane Vinson looked as if she couldn't give less of a damn.

"Where's Charlene?" A wide grin lingered on Jane's cheeks. "I made a bet with her, y'know. See who got to 1st Lieutenant between us. A long ways back that was but hell, I bet she's gonna be pissed off to see I got it first."

Slowly, the hearty chuckle that filled the air grew lonesome. Rhonda tugged at the strap of her satchel and turned her head in efforts to hide her frown. Emeline felt her heart sink at the sudden recollection, yet her expression stilled with considerate silence.

"Charlie got… reassigned to the 317th as a flight nurse, before we left for Italy." The words were still difficult to say. "Six months before we got word of our transfer for ETO, we got news that the C-46 she was in was almost gunned down. They were in evac somewhere over New Guinea. The flak… got her. And two others. The plane made it to the airbase, but the three of them…"

Grins and smiles were soon melded into pensive frowns. Subconsciously, Jane took off her garrison cap. Her fingers ran over the golden pin of the Nurse Corps, fiddling and idle. "Anyone else?"

"A couple EMs got injured while out on the jeeps and the field. But we haven't lost anyone else in our platoon."

"Almost lost one, if that counts. Edith kinda went crazy when we were stationed outside some town." Despite the circumstance, a trace of amusement could be heard in Rhonda's tone. "Damn snipers were shooting into the windows of the hospital we held up in. Aimes and Cortez practically pinned her to the wall to keep her from going out there to give them a piece of her mind."

Jane chuckled dryly. "Yeah, that sounds like the Edith we all know."

"Anyone from First Platoon? Wounded, KIA…"

"None killed, thank God. A good number wounded though. Trujillo almost lost a foot when they mortared the village we were holed up in. But he's out and about now. Can hardly tell he's got a scar under those boots of his."

When silence filled the gaps of contemplations, Winnie glanced between the nurses before her. "Ma—Lieutenant," she recovered instantly. She wasn't quite sure which formalities would do. "Do… Do you know where we're gonna be stationed during this leg of the trip? Major Atkins and Captain Fairfax were real sticklers with the details. We don't really know much…"

Eventually, the nurse's good-natured grin took hold of her cheeks. "Hun, call me Jane. Jan, Jane, Vinson—anything but ma'am or Lieutenant. As for where we're going, your guess is as good as mine. The coast, from what I hear. We get reoutfitted here and then God knows where exactly afterwards. It almost seems like even Rousseau himself doesn't know completely where."

"Does _anyone_ know?" Rhonda muttered under her breath.

Jane snorted quietly and gestured to the hanger behind them. "At this rate I know more about those boys' plans than our own. How fuckin' ridiculous is that?"

Emeline turned her head and glanced at the open hanger across the way. A number of soldiers sat on rows of benches, clad in their drab green uniforms and garrison caps. Before them stood boards and posters of some sort. A map showed on the back of one of the boards that faced the nurses, but what it showed exactly she hadn't the faintest idea.

"Where are they going?"

"Normandy. Or so I've been told. Once we clear out of the strip, they've got control of the airway. Come sundown they're boarding C-47s and heading for mainland."

Winnie's dark green eyes widened at the prospect. "Does that mean we're heading for Normandy as well?"

"Attached to those boys at first go?" Rhonda shook her head and chuckled. "Not likely. Then again, the last time I doubted what the generals on the higher-ups were thinking, they placed us on the front lines supporting 39th Infantry. Can't say for sure what the hell is gonna happen now."

"They're Airborne," Jane pulled out a cigarette from her front pocket and patted the other for a lighter. "We aren't anything close to flight nurses or an airborne medical company, hun. We don't do planes. And we sure as hell don't jump from them."

"It'd be interesting if we could," Winnie mused as she stared at the hanger.

"But scary," Leanne murmured as she followed her gaze.

"Alright, alright—don't go jinxing us now. I'd prefer to stay on the safe side of the channel, thank you very much." Rhonda's past experiences with doubting their platoon's destinations were coincidental at most, but still less than ideal. Emeline knew this herself all too well.

"Let's just see if that wish of yours comes true then, Rhon."

"42d! On me!" a deep voice cried out over the chatter.

Standing beside the first truck of their convoy was the commanding officer of the 42d Field Hospital, Lieutenant Colonel John Rousseau. He was among the older men in their unit at thirty-six years old, relatively scrawny in build with a sharp jawline and hook nose. Thinning black hair rested atop his head under his cap, and dark grey eyes watched as nurses and officers and EMs gathered around. Sharp and assertive, many took well to his lead during their campaign in North Africa and the MTO.

"Welcome back to England, ladies and gents," came his raspy voice. "We waited for all the platoons to come to ground before discussing our next assignment, so listen up."

"Thank freakin' God," Jane muttered as she put out her half-finished cigarette.

"There's been some final changes to our assignments over the last few hours. It was decided that each of our platoons would attach to units in the 9th Infantry as they head for Normandy. But higher-ups left that for the 45th Field Hospital instead. We're staying in England, folks."

Quiet whispers and brief words were exchanged between the crowds. Emeline turned to her friends and saw their reactions. Utter surprise and confusion for some. Complete relief and silence for others. She could only muster up a small smile as her own response.

"For the time being, we're attached to the 12th Evac Hospital in Blandford Camp. We're gonna set up and aid the hospital established for the upcoming invasion in Normandy. But we are _not_ gonna split up into platoons during this leg of the trip, folks. 42d stands united this time around."

"And Normandy, sir? We gonna head there?"

Rousseau greeted the nurse with a small sort of smile. "Lieutenant Vinson. You bring up a good question, but I can't give you an answer just yet. Normandy is still undecided for us."

Everyone quietly muttered their thoughts on the situation. Rousseau shook his head and rose his voice. "But the matter isn't _if_ we're going to France or Holland, folks. It's a matter of _when_. I don't have that answer yet, but I'll tell you this. We've got a hell of a road ahead of us, ladies and gents. I'm not gonna sugarcoat this damn war. We go where we gotta go and we do what we gotta do. We help those soldiers on the lines so they can live to fight another day. _That_ is the 42d's role in this war. And I can tell you for damn sure it isn't gonna be done sitting on this side of the channel."

Contemplative silence was their only response.

"Now, the boys of the 506th are gonna need this tarmac soon. We might not be leaving for Normandy, but they are. We leave for Blandford at 1100 exactly. Everyone, get packed up and get ready for the drive. We're heading east."

Scuffled footsteps and quiet chatter wove into in the air. A quiet sigh was lost amongst its layers. Wherever Blandford was, it sounded like it was a long ways from where they were.

"Those are the guys from the 506th, right?"

Emeline followed Leanne's gaze and watched as a number of men filed out of the hanger across the way from them. They stood at the head of their convoy, on the brim of the roadway that led off to the rows of barracks and tents and plywood buildings. Small wonder where the men would be headed to now.

"I suppose they are."

"They've never stepped foot into a war before," Rhonda acknowledged.

A subtle crease appeared between Leanne's brows. "How can you tell?"

"Don't know. How they walk, how they talk. When they're green as grass, it all seems the same."

Jane relit her cigarette. "After a while, you girls'll notice it yourselves. It's all in the mannerisms. A man can look like he's tough shit but it doesn't always mean he's been to war for himself. Those boys, they're new. Seeing it now for ourselves, it's obvious. This jump of theirs is their first one. No denying that."

"First jump of many, probably," Emeline murmured.

She had seen men of almost all walks of life fighting this war. And all who survived presented an air that was near impossible to properly explain. Mannerisms weren't complete validations. It was much more than that in her eyes. People who realized how close they were to life and death, those who were in complete control of those options, even for minutes or milliseconds—it was only a part of every person who survived each battle. She couldn't see that in these men. Not yet.

They were only yards away, and the voice that rose from the crowds of soldiers was as clear as any. "Holy shit! Fellas, look at that! Women in uniform."

"They part of the 101st? When the hell did that happen?"

"Well, that's another way of pointing out the new from the old," Jane mused aloud.

"Hard to believe that some men can act like they've never seen women in war before," Rhonda muttered.

There was a distinct smacking sound, presumably a hand to the back of the head. "No, ya schmuck. They ain't Airborne. They're in the friggin' Nurse Corps."

"Fuckin' hell. I think we're in the wrong division, boys." This earned a round of hearty chuckles. A few even clamored in agreement.

"What, and have _you_ go into some kinda medical unit? I get shot and I have a guy like Luz or Perconte tryin' to save my ass? Gimme a fuckin' break."

"Hey, hey! You underestimate my abilities, Gono. But it just so happens that you're already blessed with a medic. Your ass gets shot and you got Doc here at your side in a second. 'Course if you actually get shot _in_ the ass, you got me and Perconte at your side laughing _our_ asses off."

"Ah, fuck off Luz."

Chuckles mingled in the air as the nurses turned away to stifle their own. Some of the soldiers seem to have taken notice of their simple gestures and their exchange of quiet words. A hand shot up from the group of men, waving in their direction. He seemed to be a bit shorter than most, with wind-tossed brown hair and a toothy kind of grin that bordered between mischief and enthusiasm.

"Afternoon, ladies," he called out.

Rhonda nodded her head. "Afternoon, boys."

"Off to fight a war this fine day?"

A quiet chuckle left Jane's lips. "And have us do your jobs for you? Don't be such lazy bastards."

They continued on their merry way, grinning and chuckling as they had. Some glanced at the nurses and whistled. Others shuffled along peacefully. It was a mild reaction compared to what it once was months back, but they were all fine with it this way.

"Alright, alright. No more joking around, let's get packed up. The trucks look like they're near—"

Before Jane could finish that thought, she felt a sudden shove against her shoulder. Her weight toppled her towards the right, knocking her into Emeline. Despite the sudden shock, the nurse caught both their weights, causing her notebook to slip from her grasp as she held onto her friend's arm.

"Fucking—Hey, Dozer! The hell?"

"Nature calls!" A very tall, burly-figured man replied over his shoulder. "We're leaving in five minutes with no stops along the way. I gotta _go_."

He wore the similar olive-drab service uniform as the other men, more fitted to his larger build. Emeline was surprised to see such a robust man in their unit, and more surprised to see his name was truly Dozer. Far be it from her to deny a man like Alex Dozer from answering nature's calls.

"Christ, he could give more warning when comes bowling through like that…" Jane muttered. "You alright there, Emeline?"

"I should be asking you that," she chuckled as she picked up her fallen garrison cap. Her leather-bounded notebook laid in an open heap at the foot of her oxfords. The thin pages flicked lithely in the wind, her brothers' letters floating down the roadway. With a huff, she closed her notebook and went after the loose leafs of paper.

"When the hell did we get a man like Dozer in our unit?"

"Six months back," Jane replied. Emeline didn't need to turn around to see that grin toying across her friend's face. "A new EM for First Platoon."

Emeline chuckled dryly to herself and picked up the first letter. Dark splatters of muddy water had grazed the page. But it was still legible and intact, the more important thing in her mind.

The next letter came a foot away, in the same condition as the first. Another came a few inches from there. But the last few made her breathe a silent curse. They laid on the cold ground, directly in the path of the passing soldiers. One man stepped on one of the letters, leaving a perfectly large print of half his boot. Emeline bit her lower lip and sighed quietly in dismay.

"Excuse me."

She wedged in between the crowd of men, much to their confusion. As she lowered down to her haunches to pick up them up, a pale hand had already beaten her to it. She blinked in surprise. Standing before her was another man, tall and pale with a lean face and build. His short dark hair was neatly combed and dark pools peered down at her with natural earnest. A small rush of heat smothered her cheeks and she glanced down at the papers in his hands. It took a moment for it to actually sink into her mind.

"Sorry 'bout your papers, miss. They're a bit dirty." The lilt in his voice was strange. It was American, southern if she was to guess, but she had never quite heard it before.

"Ah… no, it's fine." She took them with a nod and smiled in thanks. Her feet moved towards her friends but she found that lilt stopping her.

"'scuse me, miss?"

He motioned to his hand. Dark mahogany eyes caught sight of the square photograph in his grasp, and deep within her chest she felt a resounding thump.

The recollection flooded the forefront of her mind, suddenly crisp and vivid like a subconscious movie reel. A week before Roderick left for the Air Force. Two weeks before Sebastian left for the Navy. Three days before Theodore left for the Marines. Sunday, on the 22nd of February 1942—Emeline remembered her twenty-first birthday very well.

Her throat went parch. "Th… Thank you."

She remembered that day on the beach. It was in the later afternoon, after Roderick and Theodore finished their shifts at Roman's construction site, after Sebastian finished his work on the old pick-up at Leopold's Garage. Sunlight was still warm and bright on the coastal stretches and the winds were cool and supple. Even in the cold English air, she could almost feel the sun-kissed breaths brush against her cheeks, could almost taste those briny drafts at the tip of her tongue.

Roderick, dressed in grey coveralls and a white shirt dampened with sweat, stood grinning toothily to her left. To her right, clad in an oil-stained shirt and dark overalls, Sebastian smiled faintly at the camera. Between them, beaming handsomely with his arms slung around his brothers' shoulders, Theodore stood with a candid manner. In front between them all stood the much shorter Emeline, attired in her white floral summer dress and her usual kindhearted smile.

A black-and-white picture, small and simple as it was, captured a long forgotten memory. One she had stored away within her notebook, far from the reaches of her mind. It suddenly felt like ages ago. But after so long, she realized it _was_ ages ago.

"I would've really missed this…" She swallowed hard and found the will to muster up a smile. "Thank you for picking it up. And… for my letters as well, thank you."

"Not a problem, miss."

She glimpsed over him one last time. His green drab uniform just like any other man's walking past them. But the circlet of cloth on his left arm caught her attention at once. "You're a medic?"

There was a subtle twitch of his lips. "With the 506th. Easy Company."

"101st Airborne," she added with a slow nod. "We've heard about your division. Rumor has it you and your boys are some of the best in the Army."

"Well, they trained us to be. I suppose we've gotta prove that rumor true somehow."

Hearing that only made her smile. "If that's how it is then I think you boys will be alright out there."

"42d Field Hospital! Move out!" a voice boomed. Emeline turned her head and saw Lt. Colonel Rousseau climb into the first truck of the convoy. "Let's go, ladies and gents! 42d's on the move!"

She looked down at her wristwatch. 1100 exactly. The medic glimpsed at the trucks and jeeps with a flicker of interest. "Maybe we'll run into each other out there, huh?"

"Maybe." But she couldn't bring herself to truly agree with what those words meant. She just gathered up another small smile and nodded. "Take care of yourself, trooper."

"You too, miss."

Emeline turned and headed back towards her friends. One hand held her brothers' letters. The other held the old photograph with gingerly care. She glanced over her shoulder once more but no longer saw the raven-haired medic. He was now mixed with the flow of other men clad in green field uniforms and dark garrison caps, just as any another nameless face in the crowd.

"C'mon, Angel." Emeline could still hear that grin in Jane's smooth voice. "You heard Rousseau. We gotta get going."

Rhonda handed the satchel back to the approaching nurse, fighting hard to keep that smile from conquering her features. The battle was a lost cause.

"Don't even start," Emeline said as she stuffed her letters back into her bag. Slim, nimble fingers opened the pages of her notebook, and she gently placed the photograph between two fresh sheets before folding it close once more.

"He was cute," was all Rhonda said.

Emeline ignored the warm swell in her cheeks and pushing the incident behind her. She tucked her notebook in her satchel and gathered her rucksack in hand.

"C'mon. Might as well claim a seat on the convoys," her voice became more lighthearted, as did her smile. "Last time they stuck us in the truck that hauled most of the supplies. Those crates and folded cots are uncomfortable to sit on after a while."

"Ah, point made, Angel. It's one of the main reasons why we have this," Jane patted the hood of the open-hatched jeep behind her and beamed. "We aren't gonna be cooped up in the convoys this time around, girls."

Rhonda rounded both her and the jeep with a suspicious eye. "Jan, how the hell did you manage to filch a jeep?"

"Aw, don't be giving me the stink eye, Rhon. I just might reconsider towing you along if you keep up that little guilt-trip." Jane feigned a pout, "and I'll have you know, I only got this jeep 'cause Bellasario in supplies owes me a favor."

"What favor?"

"We saved his life," Leanne replied with a little smile.

Emeline rose her brows. "Fair enough trade."

"Eh, we thought so too."

Leanne, Winnie and Rhonda claimed the back seat, while Emeline took the passenger side. Jane had offered to drive, seeing as she's one of the only ones among them who knew how to.

"Just like my daddy's Ford back home in Montana," she commented with a grin.

Surprisingly enough, that was all the reassurances they needed.

They pulled up into the convoy, flanking behind one of the last trucks in the unit. Emeline peered over her shoulder and watched as the last of the 506th disappeared into the sea of pitched green tents. Respect settled beside unease in the very pit of her stomach, a sort of torn feeling that blurred the borders between one and another. But it was just like any other division she meets before they went to this battle or that, taking over this town or that one, gaining foot in this side of the country or another.

Only a flicker of thought, a speckle of insight, before that sense of indecision slipped into the crevices of her mind, buried and long forgotten. A part of her would've liked to see those men again. Another part of her truly, _whole-heartedly_, hoped she didn't. No one could say for sure and no one spared the chance to wonder. They simply kept moving, kept driving. Their campaign in Europe now started, and they were heading east.

* * *

_*The 42d Field Hospital was an actual medical unit during WWII. It had 3 Platoons and an HQ Company, each platoon had about 60 enlisted men [EMs], 6 nurses, and half a dozen surgeons, usually all medical officers. Members of the 42d mentioned in this story are all fictional, and the majority of the locations that they are stationed to in this story are not the locations they were actually stationed to during the war._

_*Roughly speaking, the chain of evacuations followed this order: Aid Stations - Collecting & Clearing Stations - Evacuation Hospitals - Station Hospitals - Hospitals in the Zone of Interior (which are usually rehabilitation hospitals back in the States)._

_*Field hospitals supported infantry divisions on the frontlines. In the chain of evac, they were usually attached to a clearing station, if not at the same level as a clearing station. Their sole purpose was to provide major surgery as close to the lines as possible, and to move with the lines as soon as possible as well. So they're much smaller than most hospitals in the chain of evac._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you very much to those who reviewed and showed their interest in this story. It's really nice to see that someone enjoys it, so thank you! I realize that I didn't mention this before, so I do apologize for the late note, but I will say now that this story **_**is**_** more focused on Emeline and the 42d Field Hospital rather than the boys of Easy Company, though they will be more prominent figures in the later half of the story. If this deters readers already, then I understand. But, hopefully, to those who do not mind, you guys will still enjoy reading on anyway. :)**

_**Edited: February 14, 2013**_


	3. Chapter 2

**Edelweiss**

_Strong tides of emotion, fierce surges of passion, sweep the broad expanses of the Union in this year of fate. In that prodigious travail there arc many elemental forces, there is much heart-searching and self-questioning; some pangs, some sorrow, some conflict of voices, but no fear. The world is witnessing the birth throes of a sublime resolve._

_**Prime Minister Winston Churchill – June 16, 1941**_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The day had been calm. Billows of white cotton drifted slowly overhead, and the winds were slight and warm. Somewhere down the row of tents the sounds of a radio crackled to life and, softly, the easy tunes of Glenn Miller and his band wove into the air, mingling with the bouts of distant chatter and hearty chuckles. On the field further down, EMs from 42d and 12th had started up a friendly football match. Officers and nurses alike sat on the sidelines, cheering them on or soaking up those elusive warm rays of sun.

Emeline sat on a makeshift chair outside her tented station, her head swaying lightly to the music that was soft as murmurs in the wind. Her notebook laid open on her lap, once fresh and bare now littered with thoughts and scribbles. A sudden cheer erupted from the crowd down the row, towards the open fields, and she smiled to herself.

Somehow, it was nice to hear all the excitement, to see all the cheerful grins and smiles, to feel that impending weight lift from their shoulders, if only for a few hours. War was like a far-off echo in that vast calm. Faint and incomprehensible to their minds, it was a distant worry for another phase in their lives. For now, it was a good day. A peaceful day.

"Ella Raines…"

Mahogany eyes glanced at the owner of that southern twang, suddenly curious of his sigh. A copy of _Yank _was in his grasp, the pages now being trifled through mindlessly.

"What?" she asked in amusement.

"Ella Raines," he showed her a picture he had been eying. A woman with long dark hair, fine features, and painted lips she imagined were ruby red stared back at her.

"This week's pin-up girl?"

"Gotta love Yank Mag," he said with his toothy grin.

He was a lanky-figured man, with dark blond hair and an aquiline nose. Emeline had recognized him instantly when he was brought into the tent. Corporal Timothy Camden, an EM for the 42d Field Hospital, assigned to her platoon during their time in North Africa. His arrival at her tent station turned out to be one of the more eventful moments throughout her day. A mishap during the football match earlier resulted in a sprained left ankle, though there wasn't much needed to be done. A secure bandage wrap and a pack of ice Emeline managed to get from the mess hall was all that was necessary.

Camden now laid on the ground beside her. He used nothing but his field jacket as a pillow for comfort, and his left leg was elevated on the small supply crate she had found. She offered one the cots in the tent for him to lie on but he refused as politely, though firmly, as he could with the nurse.

'You don't need to make a big fuss over me, now,' was what he told her. 'As long as I'm out here, I don't really care for why or how.'

Emeline obliged the proposition happily enough. Once she had him settled, it occurred in her mind to ask Camden _how_ he got a sprained ankle. But her mention of it only made him shrug.

'Well, hell, I had to get the ball somehow. It wasn't that bad. Besides,' his grin came across as proud, 'I scored twice 'cause of that. I can handle a tackle for the team.'

Hearing that response only made Emeline smile and shake her head. She wasn't the least bit surprised seeing Camden, of all people injured, to come up to her tent. He was always the reckless type.

"You think this war's gonna be over any time soon?" he asked after a while.

The words that were at the brim of Emeline's mind, practically at the tip of her tongue as she skimmed through her notebook, suddenly blurred into incoherent blocks. She glimpsed at the young man and saw that distant look in his eyes as he stared at the fading blue plains overhead. Silently, she followed his gaze.

"Too soon to tell how soon," she found herself saying.

He glanced at her with amusement settling in those cobalt orbs. "That's it? No numbers? Jesus, I was expecting some kinda help on a betting strategy here, Emmy. The boys got a pool on when all this bullshit comes to an end."

"Women get impatient with numbers," she reasoned with a little smile. "Tell a woman it'll happen in two months, we expect it to happen in two months, no more, no less. We've been told way too many numbers in this war. After a while, we figured waiting's our best strategy."

"Yeah, well, men get impatient waiting," he muttered. "Almost two years… Christ, can you believe that, Emmy? Two years, two continents. Might as well feel like we've been all over the goddamn map…"

"Two years," she acknowledged with a nod. Her eyes followed the silhouette of a wispy cloud floating above her. "It's a long time."

Both lapsed in reflective silence. Neither was particularly bothered by the quiet though. They liked the company. They liked the presence of someone, anyone, close by to share the moment with.

"Nine months," she said after the fading of Glen Miller blues.

Camden turned his head and found those mahogany eyes staring at him with its usual dark brown glow. "What'd you say?"

"If you were to ask me how many months exactly, that's what I'd say. Tell those boys running the pool to put me down for nine months."

It took a moment for her words to register in his mind. Before long, he was grinning from ear to ear. "I didn't take you much for a gambling type, Emmy."

"I'm not," she smiled. "But… I guess you can call it women's intuition."

He chuckled. "Christ, I'd never thought I'd see the day where a nurse like you would wise up to gambling somehow. Next thing I know, I'll be seeing you throwing dice with Richie and Yodel down by the mess hall."

"Emeline's gonna be doing what with who now?"

Hearing that voice, the dark-haired nurse turned and sighted her friend. Curiosity and disbelief were amongst the reactions she saw. The thought of it only made her laugh. "I don't even know the first rules of dice."

"Neither do I," Jane shrugged. She lit a cigarette and tucked her lighter back into her field jacket. "I thought it was just trying to get seven or eleven. But then sometimes when you get seven you lose and sometimes when you get seven you win. Messed up rules, in my opinion. I stopped trying to learn a long time ago."

"Wha— C'mon, there's more to it than that, Jan. You try to get seven and eleven, but when you get two, three, four, five… and, well…" Camden saw the pointed look Jane gave him and laid back onto the ground. "Y'know what? Never mind. Forget I mentioned it."

Emeline chuckled and glanced at her friend. "Where's the others? Still watching the game?"

"Yep. What's left of it, anyway. The last match ended 13-11. Yes, Camden, you crazy little bastard. 42d won."

"Glad to see my sacrifice wasn't all for nothin'," he grinned.

Jane rolled her eyes lightheartedly and nudged his shoulder with her boot. "Don't you be going and doing anything like that again, you hear? You're lucky a sprained ankle was all you got after that last tackle. Hell, you're a lucky bastard overall today, aren't you? You probably won't even be able to get on your feet to drive the jeeps until you're all healed up."

"Hell nah, Jan. I only need my right leg and hands to do most the driving. Everything else is fine long as I don't move much."

"You need rest," Emeline asserted. "Driving on the roads could do more harm than good when you go through all those bumps and curves."

"Aw, c'mon, Emmy. My leg's all fine. See?" He motioned to his ankle proudly. But the vain attempt was painfully obvious on any account, a situation he grinned sheepishly at. "Well, I'm just sayin'. I'll be fine. A sprained ankle ain't much to me, I've had worse. Besides, I don't need to be cooped up on a cot in some tent. I'm…" He paused for a moment. His expression turned odd as he stared at them. "Am I the only one hearin' that?"

A dull hum lingered in the air, light and faint like the flutter of dragonfly wings in summer heat. Moments passed, and the hum grew to an incessant drone, blanketing the sounds of the game's cheers and the radio's silken voices.

Their gazes turned skyward. Planes filled the waning blue expanses in packs, creating tight-knit formations like steel-armored birds. Whistles and hollers from others nearby were lost within the sputter of engines. Emeline looked all around her, down towards the open fields, past the rows of pitched tents. Primed to perfection and shined to the brim, all eyes were on the new pride of the U.S Army.

"I'll be damned. Aren't those the boys that're going to Normandy?"

"Looks like their higher-ups think the weather's good enough for their jump tonight."

"Normandy… Jesus, what comes after that? Belgium? Germany?"

Jane tapped the ashes off her cigarette. "God knows."

Emeline turned her gaze back to the fleet overhead. She felt so small compared to those dozens of planes, so insignificant. Respect and pride swelled beneath her breast, a subconscious admiration for those men, those planes, and all it represented. But seeing it suddenly left her with a heavy heart. They all knew full well where those C-47s would be heading, and they knew what that truly meant. It was an inevitable possibility, silently accepted by all soldiers and nurses and officers. Yet somehow it was still unsettling.

"Give 'em hell, boys," Camden muttered as he did a little salute to the skies.

Emeline remembered the letter Sebastian had last sent her, and all the ones before that. Her brothers had always ended their letters with the same words, always with the same meaning.

_Give 'em hell, 'cause you know we'll do the same._

She said them silently to herself, almost like it was a little prayer. God wouldn't condone such words, she knew. But with where those men were going, she wished them more than divine grace. They would need much more than that.

"Gonna have to prepare ourselves." Jane put out her smoke and glanced at the orange skies one last time. "Let's just see if that ankle of yours heals within the next few days, Camden. Even though we aren't on the field, we're still gonna need everyone we got."

— ~ —

It took only a day and a half for the first C-46 to come in with the wounded. A total close to two-hundred men came in the first day, not even a fourth of the hospital complex's full capacity. By the next few of days, though, that number had reached close to six-hundred.

Litter-bearers and ambulances took control of the roads, trucking in patients from Tarrant Rushton's airfield, or driving the more severe cases between triage and the hospital complex. Officers had delved deep into their trades of service, either up to their neck in administrative paperwork or up to their elbows in surgery. Nurses of the 12th remained within the hospital, taking care of the number of men in recuperation or in the waiting halls for operations. Emeline and the other nurses of the 42d had stationed outside the complex, in the large bivouacs running a triage of sorts.

It was an effective system, but flawed. The chain of priority saved the lives of some, and risked the lives of others. They were like artists walking on a tightrope, performing tricks and spins as they constantly balanced men's lives in their hands. Broken limbs, stray gunshot wounds to a hip or shoulder—as dire they may be, their priority came below the men with their faces swollen shut and their limbs nearly mangled; the men with the soaked bandages wrapped around missing arms or legs; the men that laid unconscious as they reeked of burnt flesh and cordite. Their efforts were nevertheless diligent and persistent, however long and draining it was. All fifteen nurses of the 42d ran on 18-hour shifts, or even 24-hour stretches. But it was not all in vain.

"Am I… g—gonna be alright, nurse?"

Emeline glanced at the soldier on the cot before her. With a small smile, she ran a gentle hand over a tuff of his dark hair. Blood had dried in between the locks, sticking to her palms. But still, her smile remained.

"You're doing fine, soldier. We're doing all we can. You gotta stay awake for me, alright? Just a little bit longer."

She watched his lips twitch weakly. "Alright. Just wanted to make sure…"

Streaks of burgundy ran down the left side of his bandaged face. Underneath the blankets that covered him, the real damage was concealed. His uniform was ragged and singed from a mortar blast, quickly discarded when he came under medical care. Burns and shrapnel had riddled his chest and arms. Muscles in his legs had nearly splintered off its bones. It was a gruesome sight, but wrenchingly common in their wards.

Emeline did as much as she could within those initial five minutes; cleaning a medic's previous attempts at stitches, changing sullied bandages around his arms and neck, stabilizing his condition as much as possible. The plasma drip was still tight in her grasp when two EMs had stopped beside the stretcher. Recognition flickered in her dark eyes and she sighed.

"Thank God. Another minute or so and you would've had me worried, Dozer."

The burly man feigned a look of hurt. "Aw, you underestimate me, Emmy."

Having no time to process his words, Emeline handed the plasma bottle to the nurse that had accompanied them. "We've stopped the bleeding in his legs for now, but his blood pressure is getting too low. You need to get him to surgery."

Dozer and another man, who she assumed was with the 12th, wasted no time. They lifted the stretcher with ease and carried him down the aisle of cots and litters out of the tent. Emeline and the other nurse, a petite woman with chestnut curls and round blue eyes, stayed at the soldier's side.

"What's your name?" Emeline asked as they approached the green ambulance truck.

It took a moment before the nurse realized she was the one being spoken to. "M… Macy, ma'am. Macy Letterman. 12th Evac."

Emeline nodded and turned to look at the dark-haired soldier. The same gentle smile curled her lips. "You hear that, soldier? This is Nurse Macy. She'll be taking care of you now. You're in good hands, alright? You gotta hang in there."

One weak grin, however painful the effort took him, was all she needed to see. She stood aside and watched as they loaded him onto the back of the truck. Macy Letterman climbed into the back along with him, still holding the bottle of plasma securely in her hands.

"Make sure you get him to surgery. He was given a steady course of morphine before the flight. Same with the plasma." Emeline heard Dozer and Montague start up the truck and met Macy's dark blue gaze. "Major Renolds should be waiting for you at the second surgery station."

The young nurse nodded instantly. "Yes, ma'am. You… didn't want to come with us?"

With a tired smile, Emeline shook her head. "No, I've done all I can do. Look after him for me."

She closed the back doors and pounded the window, signaling the clear to go. The ambulance rolled down the road to the main complex without a moment of hesitation. Once it was gone completely from her sight, disappearing at a corner beyond the row of pitched tents, Emeline sighed and headed back to triage.

The smell of blood had mixed with that faint stench of rotting tissue. It was still pungent in her nostrils, even after she had stepped outside. She stopped at the flap of the large tent and looked around. Cots in the first ward had been constantly full since the first day, constantly shifting from one batch of wounded men to another. Even then, after nearly a week, it was still no different.

Her stomach churned with disquiet. In a matter of days, they had received up to six-hundred men in their admissions. Their complex could withstand the numbers, she knew. But her true concerns laid far beyond the boundaries of Blandford Camp, far from the shores of England.

"Emeline."

She turned around at the sound of her name and found two of her fellow nurses approaching her. A smile in greeting was offered, but not wholeheartedly returned.

"Go get some rest, for Christ's sake," Jane scolded quietly.

"I'm alright. I still have my rounds to make. Men in the second ward barely arrive from the airfield, and—"

"And we can handle them. Don't you worry about it. Me and Winnie have second ward under our rounds this time. You need some rest."

Winnie gave her friend a knowing look. "When was the last time you got something to eat, huh? Changed your clothes, washed your face?"

"Ah… not too long ago… A couple of hours, maybe."

"Couple of hours, my ass. Go and rest up. You've been running close to a 36-hour shift already for crying out loud. You need a break."

Emeline furrowed her brows.

"We talked to Sydney and Colleen." Concern glinted in Winnie's dark green eyes. "They said you've been going back and forth between the tents ever since their shift this morning. And your cot was empty the whole night last night too. It didn't take long to figure it out."

"I can still grind in a few more hours." Emeline rubbed the back of her neck. "We need all the able hands we can get…"

"Ten other nurses, five other officers can handle two-hundred men, Angel. We've done it before with even less. Now go," Jane gave her a nudge away from the tent and grinned. "We got it. You've got blood on your uniform, your hair's a mess, and you probably haven't even eaten anything since dawn. Go take a goddamn break already. And don't make me say it again."

For a moment, it looked as though Emeline was about to say something in protest. But Winnie and Jane stepped in front of the flap of the tent, crossing their arms over their chests and eying her with halfhearted severity.

"You ain't walking through this tent, Emmy. Not now, anyway."

"Don't make us hogtie you and carry you back to the barracks."

Emeline could only smile weakly at her friends' persistence. She saw the look on their faces, and she could feel the layers of the triage's aftermath seeping deeper into her skin. Suddenly the prospect of putting up any more of a fight became too tiring for her. With a weary twitch of her lips, she glanced down at her hands.

"If you need any more help, you call for me," she conceded.

"Don't count on it," Jane said with a little wink.

"Go on. Get some food, go clean up, go sleep, whatever you want. You're on break now, and we've got rounds to finish up."

"Don't wanna keep you, then."

Both nurses disappeared into the tent, leaving Emeline to stand there as she took a look around the camp. Grey clouds curtained the blue expanses above them, snuffing out the fluttering warm streams of sun. It made it difficult to tell the time of day, but a glimpse at her wristwatch showed it was only half past 4.

A row of men on litters laid on the grassy field in front of their stations. Some waited to be checked on, others were being tended to by nurses, a few others were lifted by medics and headed for tents they were now assigned under. Their entire unit was in constant motion, working endlessly like a fluid machine.

She felt out of place standing there, idle and useless in a sea of wounded men and bustling nurses and officers. A part of her wanted to help those men laying silently in pain or calling out for a nurse or medic. But something weighed heavily in the back of her skull, a dull sort of pressure that grated against the bone. A grey static haze filled the crevices of her mind, smothering and thick as it went, and like grains of sand slipping through her slim fingers, all the knowledge she had learnt from her nursing program had disappeared from the depths of her mind.

The confliction left her lightheaded. Drained—she felt drained.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Winnie standing at the flap of the tent, looking as if she were about to call out her name. Pushing all her thoughts aside, Emeline turned her head away and headed in the opposite direction. Away from triage, away from the nurses and wounded men.

In a matter of minutes, all evidence of her recent shift sunk to the bottom of the tin basin within their tented quarters. Her face was clear and bright, free from the sheen of sweat and dirt, and her hair was worked into a loose braid over her right shoulder, no longer tangled and unkempt. The sticking mess that hung over her limbs and clothes had gone away and was done with, and the bittersweet smell that lingered in her nostrils had faded somewhat. Small changes and fixes, trivial and insignificant as they were in everyday life, brought so much unexpected relief now.

_It's so quiet…_

She laid on her cot, staring at the seams of the green canvas above her head. There was hardly a stir within the tent. Moments earlier the hospital's hustle and bustle filled her eardrums, but resounding silence now settled instead.

Her eyes closed for a few moments, but nothing came. No sleep, not even a hint of it, loomed over her. Thoughts were scattered and impossible to quell. Parts of her body still pulsed and ached. But the notion of rest was useless in her mind.

Slowly, she sat up and patted under her cot for her satchel. After rummaging through it, pushing aside the two packs of Hershey bars, the extra bandages and squares of cloth, and a mixture of other random supplies, she finally found her notebook.

Slim fingers leafed through the sheets. Random thoughts and musings written long ago had filled the dark lines. Every other page she found a letter from Roderick, and she even found a few others from Sebastian. She stopped at an envelope tucked between two blank sheets and scanned the words scrawled in long thin strokes.

_CPL. Theodore J. Frey  
B. Company, 1st Battalion  
8th Marine Regiment_

The stamp was marked November 10, 1943. It had been close to eight months since that day, but the letter remained untouched, unread. Her dark eyes stared at the name in vain, almost hoping, _wishing_. But no matter how many times she's read his name, seen his face in her mind's eye, the unending pang at the bottom of her heart had yet to falter. She couldn't bring herself to read that letter. For the last six months, she never could.

As she flipped past the envelope with a gentle touch, she was inflicted with a sudden swell of guilt. She realized she didn't get the name of the soldier she treated last. She didn't even know if he got to surgery on time. She didn't even know if he was dead or alive. The thought only made Emeline frown.

"E—Emeline. Ma'am… I mean…"

At the sound of the tent's flap rustling open, the dark-haired nurse lifted her gaze. Burying those thoughts within herself, she mustered up a small smile. The remnants of her previous moue diminished without a second thought.

"Ma'am? Leanne, call me Emeline," a hint of amusement was laced in her voice. "Ma'am is fine for the Army, but I'm no 'ma'am' with other nurses. Emmy, Emeline, I don't mind either one."

"Emeline." Leanne tested the sound with something close to subtle care. She smiled sheepishly at the oddness. "Sorry, it… takes a while for me to get the hang of things. I forget about it sometimes. I'll get it down soon, ma—_Emeline_. Emeline."

The corners of her lips twitched aloft. She went back to her notebook. "How was your shift?"

"It was… really something."

"That tough, huh?" she said with a sympathetic smile.

"Well, I… I'm a bit used to long shifts, to be honest. Back in Italy I mostly worked the surgical shifts with Major Renolds and Captain Pyle—sometimes even the 24-hour shifts. But… we've never had this many men under our care at one time. Not even in our triage or post-op wards. I guess I was just… a bit overwhelmed."

"Most people usually are at first," Emeline acknowledged with a little nod. "You start to know your limits and learn to pace yourself after a while. It takes time getting adjusted."

Something about those words struck Leanne to the core. As she sat at the edge of her cot, she realized they were repetitive. She's heard it so many times before from Jane and Rhonda and the other veteran nurses. And now even from Emeline.

'It takes time,' they always say. But she knew what they really meant.

"You get used to it, you mean," she found herself saying.

Emeline frowned faintly at the choice of words. It sounded much more callous than what she intended. "Getting used to it is something else entirely, I think."

Leanne stared at her hands. They felt numb, foreign. Like it was suddenly a part of her body that no longer belonged to her.

"The last man I treated… I couldn't even tell what he looked like because of all the dirt and bandages. The medical tag on his shirt showed his name though. James Walker. James D. Walker." She shook her head and wrinkled her brows. "I… gave him an IV and… and all the necessary antibiotics. I treated all his burns and stitches and wounds as much as I could. I did everything I could think of, but nothing helped. Major Schringer said exposure made the septicemia too severe. All I did—it wouldn't have done a thing. Not a thing…"

Emeline lowered her eyes to her notebook, searching for something, anything, to say.

"He wasn't even nineteen," Leanne began to say. "Not even older than me. He was a _kid_ and I watched him die. The first one to ever die under _my_ treatment." A humorless smile, an empty gesture, toyed lifelessly across her features. "I—It's stupid of me. I don't even know why I'm acting like this, ma'am. This is war, isn't it? This is what we do. We have to get used to it, don't we?"

With her things pushed aside, Emeline stood up from her cot and made way towards the younger nurse. She shook her head insistently as she lowered down to her haunches. Light smears of blood coated Leanne's pale palms, warm to the touch, bright crimson and fresh from its haunting mess. Yet Emeline took them between hers anyway, squeezing them gently as she tried to find her words.

"Leanne, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Leanne strained to keep her voice steady. "Does it get any easier, ma'am?"

Deep within her chest, Emeline felt her heart wrench. She couldn't bring herself to lie to this girl, to fill her head with false reassurance and baseless words of wisdom. At the same time she couldn't bring herself to say the whole truth, pitiless and brutal as it really was.

"After a while, you start to realize there's no such thing as easy in this war. But mourning—it doesn't make you stupid, Leanne. It doesn't make you any less of a damn good nurse. It makes you human. Death is something we can't help…" An image of TJ came to mind and she licked her lips, fending off the constriction she suddenly felt in her throat. _Hypocrite_. The word echoed in the back of her conscience. She took a quiet breath and peered up at the younger nurse. "But we try. We always try. You tried to save that boy, Leanne. That's all any of us can ever ask for."

Leanne lowered her head, her tearful blue eyes flicking back and forth, searching, as she tried to make sense of those words. She was lost. She bit hard on her lower lip and her body began to tremble as she fought hard to keep in her tears, but it was an unnecessary battle. Emeline wrapped her arms around the younger nurse, holding her tightly as quiet sobs were chocked back and muffled into her shoulder.

It was all Emeline could do, though it pained her to admit it. Her heart went out to Leanne. As a young woman, bright and optimistic and eager to help those in need, she understood her. She _was_ her. Only weeks into her personal campaign in this war, she had seen things that most nurses—most women, most _men_—would never imagine. It took weeks, days, for them to sober up to the reality of this war, and no one would ever know. No one would ever suspect what these women had seen and bore witness to.

A part of Emeline wished no nurse had to experience it. She wished no nurse had to bear the anguish and loss and exhaustion that she and countless others had to endure during their last two years. But the other part of her knew better. This was what they all had to endure, however daunting and heart-rending it was. They were the nurses of the ANC. This is what they did, what they had to do.

There was a quiet rustle at the flap of the tent. Clear cerulean eyes, tired and worried, met Emeline's gaze. She gave a subtle nod of her head and saw Rhonda's shoulders droop down a few inches. Her footsteps were light, careful, as she approached them.

"2nd Armored Division," Rhonda explained quietly. "Tank-on-tank. They said he was out there for three days before they found him."

It was an unspoken understanding. Leanne's sobs had softened over time. Her body still trembled as her well of tears gradually waned. Emeline continued to rub her back soothingly, the only comfort she could offer her.

"Leanne…" Rhonda sat beside her on the cot. "C'mon, girlie. You've had a long day. Why don't we get changed, huh? We could get something to eat at the mess hall afterwards. I hear they got a cobbler down there for dessert. You said you like desserts, didn't you?"

"I—I don't think I c… can hold anything down," Leanne replied softly. "My stomach can't bear much food lately."

"All the more reason to try," Emeline said with a little smile. "You gotta eat a little bit of something. A full tummy's good while you rest. We all need a bit of that today."

"C'mon," Rhonda stood up from the cot, her arm draped around Leanne's shoulders as she pulled her up as well. "Let's get washed up at least. It'll do some good, yeah?"

Emeline stood up and watched as they made way towards the tin tub at the end of the tent. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through a stray tuft of her locks. Pressure mulled beneath her skull and the air around her suddenly seemed thick and stale.

"I need to step out for a bit," she said to no one in particular.

"We'll be heading for the mess hall soon," Rhonda replied over her shoulder.

With a simple nod, the dark-haired nurse gathered her cloth satchel and stepped out of their tent. The cold English air nipped at her skin, a sensation that was oddly refreshing and livening. Dark grey clouds filled the skies, dimming the faded light around Blandford. Gas lanterns were beginning to light up around the bivouacs, acting as small reprieves from the advancing darkness. A few paces down the aisle, she spotted a group of EMs outside their tents. Some were playing cards, others were simply lounging on the ground or on crates, taking in their breaks with much needed respite. She recognized a few faces and made her way towards them.

"Hey there, Emmy," Dozer greeted her with a hearty grin. She had gotten to know Alex Dozer better since they last left Upottery. For such a big man, she realized he was more like a kindly bear than anything else. The smile on her face came naturally as soon as she met his dark blue gaze.

"Hello Dozer. Camden, Rugen," she greeted the two other men as well.

"Finally off your shift, I see," Camden chuckled as he threw down a card from his hand.

She scratched the back of her head. "Not that Winnie or Jane gave me much choice."

"Here to try your hand at gambling then? We could set up a game of poker right here, if you want. Hell, we could call Yodel and Richie down at their tents and they'd probably join us happily enough."

"Maybe next time," she said with a quiet laugh. Her mahogany eyes settled on the burly man beside them, reading peacefully from his copy of _Stars and Stripes_. "Dozer… the last man you trucked in from my care. The one that went to Major Renolds? Do you know how he did?"

"He's fine," both he and Bobby Rugen, a surgical tech with slim features and dark auburn hair, replied at the same time. Dozer chuckled and motioned to Rugen with a tilt of his head. "I'll let Bobby over there explain then."

"He made it out alright?" Emeline asked with a hopeful little smile.

Rugen returned it faintly and threw down a card on top of Camden's. "As well as he could be. I was on shift when he was pulled in for surgery. I remember him 'cause Dozer trucked him in. And you're kinda hard to miss there, big guy." This earned him a soft thwack to the back of his head, but he only chuckled. "Anyway… That plasma drip and the clamped artery in his leg probably saved his life. After all that damage we couldn't save much of his leg though. The shrapnel didn't pierce any of the vital organs and he's got a pretty bad concussion. But he's alive and well for now."

Relief rushed through Emeline's veins and her knees weakened from beneath her. It took all the strength she had not to collapse onto the empty crate beside Rugen. But still she sunk into her seat with something shy of finesse, murmuring a quiet 'thank God' under her breath.

"Jesus, Emmy." The surgical tech sat up in his place and steadied the nurse. "Give a guy a heart attack, will ya? You should take it easy."

"So I've been told," came her lighthearted smile. She rubbed her forehead tiredly as she soaked in their quiet stares. "I'm alright. Just need a good meal and a few hours of rest and I'll be as good as any. Oh… wait, actually I just remembered. Camden, here," she pulled out a Hershey bar from her satchel and held it out for him to take.

"What's this for?"

She smiled. "Promised you two packs of Hershey bars, didn't I?"

Camden rose his brows in surprise. In actuality, he didn't quite expect to get them at all. As he glanced at the nurse with his usual sort of grin, he saw two other women emerge from the tent across the way. A more thoughtful countenance appeared across his features as he stared at the white wax wrapper. Surprising most, he pushed it back towards the nurse.

"Nah… Nah, it's alright. It's yours, you should keep it."

"You want me to have it?" Amusement gleamed in her mahogany eyes. "After that whole bit about Rhonda and Winnie stealing your chocolate bars last week? I thought you liked chocolate."

He shrugged. "Still do. But you girls seem to need it more than I do."

Emeline stared at him oddly as he inclined his head past her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rhonda and Leanne approaching them. And suddenly she understood.

"I know Leanne came to the wall with the last guy she treated. Give her the chocolate bar for me. Tell her… Tell her to hang in there, will ya?"

Her smile came about more prominently as she glanced at the bar in her grasp. She gave a kind squeeze to Camden's arm and stood up from her seat on the crate. As she moved, the tired muscles in her body eased into dull discomfort. The strain in her eyes and in the back of her mind had diminished to nothing but faint twinges. But still, she kept going, kept moving as if it were the only thing she knew how to do.

Sometimes, when her mind drifted away like it had in that moment, she wonders why. She wonders how. But she saw the weary look on Rhonda's face, the rosy cheeks and red puffiness around Leanne's blue eyes, she saw the men that laid on the cots as they walked past the triage tents. Moments like these, where emotions had reached its peak, when fatigue had touched the brim of their conscience, when a sliver of humanity burned bright within the sea of pitched tents and wounded men, Emeline remembered the reasons why they were there.

* * *

_*The 42d Field Hospital was actually among the first US field hospitals to step onto Normandy after D-Day, landing on Utah Beach on June 7 and officially taking admissions on June 10. But for the sake of the story, I made a few tweaks in a number of their assignments throughout the war._

_*Blandford Camp was a military base first used as a training camp for the British Army. As the invasion for Europe approached, it was then converted into a US Army hospital complex, which sought to the soldiers wounded from D-Day and functioned until after VE Day._

_*The 12th Evacuation Hospital was also another medical unit that served during WWII. Though I couldn't find definitive information that they were stationed at Blandford Camp, it could be possible that they were._

* * *

**_Edited: February 14, 2013_**


	4. Chapter 3

**Edelweiss**

_This war is a new kind of war. It is different from all other wars of the past, not only in its methods and weapons but also in its geography. It is warfare in terms of every continent, every island, every sea, every air-lane in the world. _

_We must all understand and face the hard fact that our job now is to fight at distances which extend all the way around the globe. _

_**President Franklin D. Roosevelt – February 23, 1942**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Emeline stared at her glass of rum and Coke, watching as the bubbles fizzed with dull bursts. All around them was that quiet veil of nonsensical chatter and scattered laughs. Burning tobacco and tired leather wafted thickly in the air, lingering in their nostrils. Alcohol and clinking glasses were at the tips of the fingers, cold and perfect as it quenched the back of their throats. Grinning GIs in their freshly pressed service uniforms were high in spirits, livening the room. Comfort and peace of mind were like long lost friends at The Blue Boar.

Aldbourne was the field hospital's second stop since they left Blandford Camp the day before. Their travels left most weary and restless, and their previous duties at Blandford and the medical depot at Ludgershall had worn most to the brim. By the time they reached Aldbourne, nurses, officers, and EMs alike were all eager for the time off.

Only an hour ago their enthusiasm and zeal were practically overflowing when they reached the pub. They spent their time talking about anything but the war, keeping their spirits high and lifting their glasses even higher. But as the nurses reached the end of their second round, they settled into a calm ease. Quiet as they mulled over nothing in particular to themselves, but nevertheless content with relishing that peace.

"I kinda wish Jane could've joined us too," Leanne puckered her lips after a sip of her rum and Coke and held back a grimace. "She would've liked the time off, I think."

What surprised most was Leanne actually agreeing to get _something_ with alcoholic value. Rhonda insists she was joking when she said she would get the girls pissed drunk that night. But Leanne simply smiled in that faint and shy way of hers and fiddled with her garrison cap. 'A long few weeks of firsts,' was what she said. 'I guess one more wouldn't hurt, would it?'

"It didn't look like she was all that excited for that meeting with the other officers, to be honest," Winnie took another sip of her pint. "Mm, did it have anything to do with the fact Lieutenant O'Connor was attending it too? She cursed up a mighty storm when she saw her heading for the aid station."

A chuckle roused in the back of Emeline's throat. "I suppose that has a little something to do with it. She and Grace never really got along all that well. Ever since basics training, now that I think of it."

"Thank God Rousseau separated those two when we first got deployed. Can you imagine what the wards would be like if they were in the same platoon? Jesus." Rhonda drank the rest of her pint, listening as the other nurses snickered or murmured in agreement. She shook her head. "Honestly though, I think Jan was pissed off that we were getting drinks without her more than anything else."

"Why don't they get along?" Leanne asked curiously.

"God knows. We all trained together at Camp Carson with a few others—me, Angel here, Jan and Grace. They've been butting heads since day one, so we just figured they were a pair who just don't get along by nature."

Winnie rose her brows in surprise. "Is that right?"

As 1st Lieutenant in Second Platoon, Grace O'Connor was never known to take things lightly. A _brisk_ type of woman, as the more polite nurses called her. Austerity was her strength and her real source of authority. Contrast and comparison would've been meaningless between her and Jane Vinson. They were as different as night and day, unmixable as oil and water. Hearing it all come to light made it all the more obvious to Winnie.

"If that's the case," she began to say, "then it wouldn't surprise me one bit if Jane were to come by for a drink after the meeting. Sounds like she might need one."

Emeline smiled knowingly. She downed the rest of her drink, savoring the bitter heat that lingered in the back of her throat and eased to the pit of her stomach. Her dark mahogany eyes glimpsed over the table briefly. A few empty and half-finished glasses stood at the center, and the glasses at their fingertips began to add on to them. With her wallet in hand, Emeline stood up from her seat.

"Another round, girls?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't think I can—"

"Aw c'mon, Leanne!" Winnie urged with a gentle nudge to her shoulder. "One more wouldn't hurt, would it? Another beer for me, Emmy."

Perhaps it was the dose of alcohol that clouded Leanne's judgment. She was far from being pissed drunk like Rhonda claimed to get them earlier. But they could tell that the line of righteous inhibition was beginning to blur for the younger nurse.

Still, Leanne simply glanced at her friends and offered that humble smile of hers. "Alright. One more doesn't seem too bad."

"Another round it is."

"I'll go with you," Rhonda said as she got up from her seat as well.

Emeline nodded and the two nurses made way towards the bar. Once out of earshot, Rhonda peered over her shoulder, glimpsing at their friends as they lapsed into a quiet conversation.

"I think we're starting to corrupt that girl," she mused with a lighthearted laugh.

The prospect made Emeline laugh quietly along with her. "Once she starts smoking like a chimney and cursing up a storm like a sailor then I'll believe that."

"Ah, well one step closer to the cursing like a sailor part. Y'know I actually heard her say 'dammit' when we shared a shift at Blandford the other week. That's all, just 'dammit'! Can you believe that's the most I've ever heard her curse?"

"I was like that when I first met you and Jane."

"Two years later and look where it's gotten you, once you really get started we can't get you to stop."

"A bit of a habit people tend to pick up around you two, I say."

"Couldn't agree more. Just you watch," Rhonda rested her elbows atop the bar and grinned in that mischievous way of hers. "In the next few months, she'll be cursing up a storm along with Jan and Camden and the rest of 'em."

"God, like we need another foul-mouth sailor on our hands!" Emeline laughed. "We hear enough of it with you, Jane, and the rest of the boys. Try to tone it done a bit, hm?"

"Christ, but it's so much _goddamn fun_."

Emeline smiled and shook her head. "Hush, you."

Eventually the sound of rowdy laughter reached their ears. Voices and chuckles hung over the hum of the pub, booming and lighthearted as it filled the confines of the room. Another group of GIs had stepped in, clad in fresh service uniforms and greeting others around them with nods or hearty pats to the shoulders. They were like the countless others that surrounded them, high in spirits and eager for a night of beer and amusement. Rhonda eyed the men with that cool cerulean gaze of hers. Sojourned curiosity struck her in that moment, stubborn and relentless as she felt her mind stretch to recall a distant memory.

"Hey, Emmy. Those boys over there, do they look familiar to you?"

Turning around, Emeline caught sight of the men Rhonda had motioned to. Familiarity tickled the outskirts of her mind yet it was still difficult for her to properly recall. Faded images of men's faces resurfaced in her memory, one after the other like a mental slideshow. After five weeks at Blandford Camp, though, she was beginning to think they could be any one.

"I can't place them," she murmured thoughtfully.

"Mm, maybe I'm just full of it 'cause of the alcohol. But they look awfully familiar to you too, don't they?"

Emeline shifted her dark eyes off the men approaching the bar and simply nodded. One of them caught her gaze as she turned and the sudden spark of recognition wavered in the back of her mind. Her brows creased with a subtle twitch and her mind wandered with fleeting insight. They've seen them before, but she couldn't remember _where_.

"Maybe we're wrong," she mused aloud.

"Mm-mn." Rhonda placed her pint onto the bar. "Who's to say? Two years, two continents. We could've treated any one of them."

"Who's to say…"

She nodded in thanks to the barkeep when he gave her their rum and Cokes and she took a sip. But a sudden jolt to her shoulder made her squeak in surprise, the drink nearly going up her nose.

"You alright, Emmy?"

With another nod, she grabbed a napkin from the bar and wiped her lips. Dark brown orbs met hers as she turned to look beside her.

"Oop—sorry about that. Didn't see ya there," a deep voice got out.

He stared at her for a second, his expression turning curious as he looked her over. Emeline found herself doing the same, taking in his ruffled brown hair and that lively gleam in matching dark eyes. The inquisitive look on both their faces spoke volumes for itself.

"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I… was thinking the same thing, actually."

"Christ, Luz. You bump into a girl and you try to pick her up with that line? What a romantic," another voice, thick in a south Philly accent, said with a deep seeded chuckle.

"Hey, shut it, Gono. I'm trying to get reacquainted with familiar faces here." The man called Luz turned his attention back to the nurses, grinning a toothy sort of grin. "Forgive the oaf back there. He ain't exactly the poster-boy for charm or manners."

"Who you callin' oaf, huh?"

"Anyways, I'm George Luz. Call me Luz. Or George. I don't really mind what you ladies call me." Luz winked and motioned to the man standing beside him. He was a relatively brusque man with a build to match. His dark hair was short and neat and his dark eyes glanced over the nurses with a glint of curious intent. "This guy here is Bill Guarnere. Or as we affectionately call him, Gonorrhea."

"Gonorrhea…"

"Yeah, y'know. Guarnere, gonorrhea," he muttered. "Well, look, I ain't the one that came up with it. This knucklehead right here had a little something to do with it though."

The nurses shared a look of amusement between them. This all seemed oddly familiar.

"I'm Emeline. Emeline Frey," the dark-haired nurse said with her usual kindly smile.

"Rhonda McCormick," the pretty nurse said with a nod.

"Huh… Nope, I'm drawing a blank here. I think I would've remembered meeting pretty gals like you two. What about you, Gono? Ringing any bells?"

Guarnere took a sip of his pint and shook his head. "Got no idea."

"Maybe we ran into you guys during our travels. As if we haven't been almost everywhere in this war…"

"You girls been to Normandy then? Carentan?"

Suddenly, everything pieced together in Emeline's mind. Rigid as those edges may be, the names, the faces, the voices, recalling all of it only made her stare at them with a renewed sense of familiarity.

"506th…" She became sure of herself. "You boys are part of the 506th, aren't you? With the 101st Airborne?"

Luz turned to his friend. Matching off-handed approval on their faces melded with faint grins. "So we have met before, have we?"

"I suppose you could say that," Emeline said with a light laugh.

Repeating the unit to herself, realization struck Rhonda with a hefty hand. "Ah… right, right. The boys that made the jump into Normandy."

Guarnere tapped Luz by the arm and smirked. "Well look at that. These girls do know us. Didn't even say much about our unit and they've still got it."

"506th is under one of only airborne divisions in this war. You boys are kinda hard to forget around here."

"Must be doin' somethin' right if that's how it is."

"Yeah… Yeah, I remember you girls now. What was it, uh—Upottery. A ways back. You two are nurses, aren't ya? WAC?"

"ANC," replied Rhonda. She always did hate it when people mixed up the two. "We're with the 42d Field Hospital."

"See, what'd I tell ya, Gono? Following nurses like these gals into war? Dammit, we're in the wrong division."

"Ah, no. Don't you be startin' that crap again. I pity the soldier that'd have to be under your care, Luz. You ain't no Doc Roe."

"Ye of little faith, Gono."

"Stick to the talkin' box, radioman."

The nurses took little effort into hiding their soft laughs. After days, maybe even weeks or months, laughing was like a breath of fresh air, crisp and light and free of strain. It was refreshing. Not just to laugh for the sake of laughing or smiling, but to laugh because they whole-heartedly wanted to.

"Hey, look at that! They're even pretty when they laugh too. So tell me ladies—how long you stayin' in Aldbourne?"

"Don't know," Emeline admitted, almost sheepishly. "It could be a few days, or it could be a few hours. We never really know for sure ourselves. We go when they tell us to."

"We go where we gotta go and we do what we gotta do," Rhonda said in a deep faux-Boston accent. Emeline smiled, knowing full well how accurate it was to their CO. "That is the 42d's role in this war."

"Yeah, we know the feelin'," Guarnere muttered into his pint.

"Well here's to hoping you girls stick around Aldbourne for a bit longer. After having guys like Guarnere here to keep me company, it's fuckin' amazing to be in the presence of ladies after a while."

"Hey, you ain't any better, Luz."

Rhonda grinned. "God knows we're hoping the same as you boys."

By force of habit, all four rose their glasses and took a drink. That warm burning sensation was strangely comforting as they savored the quiet. Emeline was never one for drinking much, but she couldn't deny the sense of reprieve they got from their drinks, from their share of laughs, from seeing these men again. It was an unexpected chance meeting, but after so long, it almost seemed like a much needed moment of coincidence and comfort.

"Takin' a stab in the dark here, but I take it those two girls over there are with you two?"

At hearing those words, the nurses turned their heads back towards their table. Sitting at their once vacant seats was two other GIs, clad in similar service uniforms like those around them, grinning as they went on with their conversations. They were both relatively tall, similar in build and stature. One sat across from Leanne, dark auburn hair neatly combed and dark brown eyes gleaming playfully. Another man sat across from Winnie, light brown hair slightly tousled and gleaming dark blue eyes. To say the nurses were surprised would've been a vast overestimation.

Amusement was rooted in Emeline's voice. "Yeah, they're with us. And I take it those boys are yours too?"

"Yep. Those two are ours."

"C'mon," Rhonda chuckled and got their drinks. "Let's save them. If Leanne gets any redder we might have to admit her to one of our wards."

Emeline laughed quietly to herself at the thought.

"Alright ya knuckleheads," Guarnere said as he swatted at the men's shoulders. "Time to leave these pretty lady nurses alone. You two've been botherin' them enough for the night."

"Hey, c'mon Guarnere," the man with brown hair muttered as he was ushered to his feet.

"Let's go, Tab. We're talkin' to you too, Babe."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard ya, Sarge," the man with copper hair said. He glanced at the four nurses with a little smile and stood up. "See you girls later, then."

"Any of these guys bother you girls, just ask for ol' Gonorrhea. I'll set 'em straight for ya," Guarnere said as he walked past their table.

"We'll keep that in mind," Emeline called out after him, smiling faintly at the notion.

"Seems like I've missed a hell of night so far."

The nurses turned their heads to the familiar voice and greeted their approaching friend with a variety of smiles and raised glasses. Amusement settled upon Jane's features as she pulled up a chair between Winnie and Emeline. The grin that tugged at the corners of her lips was almost difficult to conceal as she glanced between the younger nurses.

"So what was that all about?"

"Just meeting some new company, is all. Those boys over there are part of the 506th," Winnie's usual bright smile hadn't left her features. "The airborne division—what was it, 101st, I think. They were the ones that were at the same airfield when we came to England a month back."

A gleam of realization shone in Jane's eyes. "Is that right? The boys that jumped into Normandy?"

"A whole company of them seem to be staying in Aldbourne," Emeline said as she caught sight of a larger group of men a few tables down. "They're nice guys though. Me and Rhon met two of them earlier."

"I ran into a few of them myself on my way over here. I didn't ask much about their units though. But I _knew_ I recognized them from somewhere before. Hell, I think a whole company's in this pub right now," Jane chuckled as she took a look around. Her dark brown eyes soon settled on her friends. "Awfully friendly guys, though, wouldn't you girls agree?"

Winnie smiled and sipped her new pint of beer. Leanne bristled slightly, her cheeks retaining that pink florescent hue.

"And here I was thinking you had a sweetheart, Winnie," Rhonda joked with a small grin.

"Of course I do," the auburn-haired nurse insisted with a nod. "I love Stephen to death. I wouldn't do anything to break that now. But there's no harm in talking to other boys and admitting they're cute. I draw a thick line there, though, that's for sure. Leanne, on the other hand…"

"I—I don't have a sweetheart though…"

With a pleased nod, Winnie placed her glass onto the table and smiled. "_Exactly_."

"Alright, alright. We're talking about this later, that's for damn sure," Jane chuckled as she reached for an untouched pint. She took a few much needed gulps before flicking her gaze between her friends. "I was hoping to catch you girls together like this. Saves me from having to track all of you down later, actually."

"You sound awfully serious, Jane," Winnie joked.

"Yeah, well, I have a few things I needed to tell all of you."

"Fire away, 1st Lieutenant," Rhonda humored as she took another sip of her drink.

Tension gradually ebbed away from Jane's shoulders as she found those pairs of eyes on her. It wasn't nearly as difficult to say like she first suspected, but it was nevertheless a daunting prospect, even for her. "Well, for starters…" A quiet sigh left her lips but still she mustered up another one of her smiles. "You girls are looking at the nurses of 42d's First Platoon."

Emeline rose her brows, a similar reaction to the others around them. "Rousseau placed us together? The five of us?"

"I insisted," Jane said with a nod. "They were about ready to have Leanne and Winnie go under Third Platoon with O'Connor and the other replacement nurses. But I convinced him they were better off under the supervision of three veteran nurses instead of just one, and that was that. The logs for First Platoon were settled not even 10 minutes ago."

"Wha… You could do that? Have me and Winnie switch to your platoon like that?"

"Being First Platoon's new head nurse had something to do with it," Jane grinned. "They placed O'Connor in charge of Third's nurses, Alice is in charge of Second's, and 'course I'm in charge of First. Lewis, Atkins, and Lockbourne are platoon COs."

"Well congratulations, Jan! You're officially the boss of us now," Rhonda chuckled.

Soft laughs drifted between them in that moment of quiet. Jane only smiled at the notion, tracing the rim of her glass with idle fingers. Emeline stared at her friend, feeling her smile wane as the silence sunk deep between them. She almost hesitated to ask the question that rose from the crevices of her buzz.

"Where are we heading?"

"Normandy," came the simple reply.

Quiet took hold of the five women. Hearing the news was no surprise. In truth, they had been waiting for it the moment they stepped off their jeeps and trucks. There were no frowns, no smiles, no exchange of words or gestures. Only a calm stillness, a sort of silent acceptance they had all grown acquainted with over the passing months.

"When?" Winnie asked after a while.

"Tomorrow. We're leaving for Portsmouth at 0400. They want us in France by sunup."

A dry laugh hung in the air. "Christ, they don't waste any time, do they?"

"They never do. We go where we gotta go—"

"—we do what we gotta do," the nurses finished with a knowing air.

The corners of Jane's lips twitched aloft. "Looks like we're in for a long haul together, girls."

Emeline managed to scrounge up a small smile. She rose her glass, glancing at her friends with something akin to encouragement. "To Normandy," was all she could think to say.

The nurses shared a knowing look between them and rose their glasses as well. All thoughts and sentiments were now buried deep within themselves. That spur of irritation, or that twinge of sadness, or that hint of hidden eagerness—all of it was null and void. Their orders were issued and suddenly it felt as if it were any other day, waiting and working and pondering. Waiting. Working. Pondering. _Waiting_.

Jane took another sip of her pint, smacking her lips quietly as she savored that bitter tang. With a quick glance of her wristwatch, she placed her half-finished drink onto the table and stood up from her seat. "C'mon. Let's call it a night. We gotta rest up for the morning."

Silently, the nurses agreed. They all rose from their seats, gathering their leather handbags and taking their woolen garrison caps in hand. Emeline glimpsed around the pub one last time. Beige stucco walls, the rich wooden floorboards and beams, that faded smell of burning hickory and tobacco. There was a comfort here she was almost reluctant to let go.

Across the room, she caught sight of Guarnere and Luz and the other men of the 506th. Jane's words buzzed in the back of her mind and it proved true in her eyes. Over half the pub was full of the 101st Airborne. Golden insignias pinned to their jackets, eagle patches sewn onto their sleeves. Their grins and laughs were hearty by nature, easy-going and free of cares. The air around them had changed from when she saw them last though. Mature, perhaps even sober. But still their smiles came easily, their laughs remained genuine. Somehow that gave her an ease of mind.

As she started to tuck her wallet back into her bag, a thought mulled in the back of her skull. She thumbed through her wallet for a second, her contemplations fleeting as she walked towards the full table nearby.

"Here boys." Unbothered by their surprised or confused expressions, Emeline placed down a number of bills onto their table, save a few dollars. "Courtesy of the Army Nurse Corps. Rounds are on us tonight."

George Luz rose his brows and leant forward in his seat. "Woah, woah. Wait a second there. The night's still young, you girls are leaving already?"

"Afraid so. We just got word we're leaving for Normandy in the morning. Long day we've got ahead of us."

"Normandy, huh?" Luz muttered as he put out his cigarette. "That's, ah… That's too bad. We would've liked having you girls around a bit longer."

Considering the thought, Emeline knew that they would've liked staying a bit longer as well. But it was a thought she had little time to dwell upon. That kindly smile of hers curled the corners of her lips as she looked around their table. Guarnere and Luz, Babe and Tab, from what she could recall, even to the others nearby who looked their way with a spark of interest. They all seemed familiar to her now.

She tapped the bills with the tips of her fingers and pushed them towards the center of the table. "Put this to good use for us then. Order a couple rounds."

"Don't have to tell us twice," Luz grinned. He gathered the bills and handed them to a few men that walked passed. "Here, Malark. You heard the lieutenant."

"What? Holy sh… crap," the man called Malark muttered as he flicked his gaze between Emeline and Luz. "All of this?"

"Can't disappoint the lady now, eh Malarkey?"

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with a chuckle, nudging one of the other men beside him before they made way towards the bar.

"God bless the Nurse Corps," Guarnere said from the next table over, raising his glass with a faint grin. "Any way we can repay you girls somehow?"

"That's easy, Gono." Emeline tucked her wallet back into her bag and patted his shoulder as she walked past. "Don't get shot in the ass while you're out there, hm?"

The men around them chuckled quietly or hid their smirks into their pints. Guarnere only grinned and muttered 'amen to that' before downing the rest of his drink. With a small smile, Emeline turned and waved in parting. "Take care of yourselves out there, boys."

"Will do, Lieutenant."

"Yeah. You take care of yourself too, ya hear?"

Emeline simply nodded and turned to catch up with the others. Winnie strayed back and waited for her friend, watching the exchange with that unfaltering smile.

"That was nice of you," she said as they walked towards the double doors. "How much did you give them?"

"Four 5's."

"Wow. Wait, r… really? Isn't that just a _tiny_ bit much?"

She smiled faintly and shrugged. "It's not too bad. I still have enough pay to last me a while. Besides we're not gonna need it with where we're going."

Winnie offered little else other than the knowing gleam in those emerald orbs. Both stepped out into the pub, taking in deep eager breaths of fresh English air. The other nurses waited for them on the picnic benches in the small courtyard, and all too soon they headed for their quarters at the aid post.

Meager conversations started and ended, simple words strung together on short string. Even Jane and Rhonda said little as they walked down the cobblestone streets. But the day's events left them all tired and quiet. Emeline noticed this herself as she trailed behind her friends. Bits and pieces of the explanation were obvious and said. The other parts were kept to themselves. Secrets that they didn't wish to share, enigmas they didn't acknowledge. It was like that curse they believed in when she worked at St. John's.

'Never say those words when you're working a slow shift,' they've said time and again. 'Next thing you know, you've got half a neighborhood on your hands and you'll be kicking yourself for jinxing it.'

Days like that came more often than not. It was inevitable in their line of work, as she found out. But a part of her that had those childish beliefs wondered about it in that moment. They could've stayed in England longer. Their hopes had been high, expecting that they would. Instead they had been ordered the exact opposite.

_Who said it?_ was what they would say back home. And perhaps even the nurses of the 42d all shared the same thought. _Who jinxed it?_

Without her realizing it, the nurses reached the aid post. It was nothing more than a converted gathering hall of sorts down the road from regimental headquarters. In the eyes of the nurses, anything with a bed and fresh sheets was nothing short of home. Medics from other companies walked past them as they rounded the corner. EMs from their own unit mingled beside the convoy of trucks parked on the other side of the street. The women paid little mind to them other than nods and gestures of greeting. Sleep was on their mind and little of anything else.

Jane reached for the door and pushed it open, blinking in surprise as someone held it as they walked past.

"Ladies," a deep voice greeted.

With a nod in thanks, Jane took off her garrison cap and led the way to their quarters at the back of the hall. Emeline peered up at the GI and mustered up a smile. The simple words, 'thank you,' were at the tip of her tongue. But as she caught sight of ebony pools staring back at her, those words were lost within the cold English breeze.

"I… It's you," she got out in surprise.

His dark eyes flickered over the insignias on her jacket, glimpsing past her shoulder loops and the ANC caduceus. A spur of recognition flickered in those eyes and she watched as his brows twitched in pensive thought. "Miss?"

That strange lilt reached her ears, southern and foreign. Knots balled up in the pit of her stomach. Her mind was made up but she couldn't help but voice her hesitations aloud. "You're… with the 506th, right? Under the 101st Airborne?"

He blinked and straightened in his place. "I'm Eugene Roe," he held out his hand. "Medic, for the 506th. Easy Company."

"Ah… Emeline Frey," she shook his hand, larger and gruff compared to her own. "I'm with the 42d Field Hospital."

"The nurse from Upottery," he mused after a moment of thought.

"You remember?"

"Kinda easy to, ma'am. We haven't run into many nurses out in the field. I haven't yet, that is."

The pretext of those words was no different from the ones she's heard in the past. 'We haven't run into many _women_ in this war,' they might as well say. But she understood it all the same.

"Well, I suppose you can say you've met one now then."

"S'ppose so." Ebony pools peered down at her again. "You been in Aldbourne long, miss?"

"Emeline," she insisted with a little smile. "And, well, no—we just got in from Ludgershall not too long ago, actually. I… didn't expect to run into the 506th while here, to be honest. We met some of your boys earlier, I think."

There was a recognizable twitch of his lips. "They give you any trouble, Miss Emeline?"

Despite herself, she smiled faintly. On any other occasion, she would've insisted that regulations and army protocol be forgotten for that moment. But there was something oddly charming about Eugene Roe and his semi-formalities. A part of her reasoned it to that strange lilt of his; deep but calm, soothing. She didn't mind any of it one bit.

"Guarnere seemed a bit rough around the edges, and Luz seemed like a real card. But they seem like nice guys. Even Babe and Tab too."

"Those two are probably the ones you wanna—"

"Hey, Emmy. What're you do—oh, uh…" Standing behind her on the sidewalk was Timothy Camden and Bobby Rugen. A small grin toyed across Camden's features as he cleared his throat. Rugen only looked on in amusement. "Never mind. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You boys calling it a night?"

"Just about. Heard the news earlier from Jan," Camden walked past them and gave the nurse an elusive wink. "Try to rest up when you can, eh Emmy?"

Rugen walked by as well and rose his hands defensively. "Hey, don't mind us. Forget we were even here."

Emeline shook her head, ignoring their implications and the touch of heat that swelled in her cheeks. Their tact was less than subtle whenever they saw the nurses with men. Even more so when the men weren't of the 42d.

"Are you stayin' in Aldbourne for long?"

She met the medic's gaze and smiled weakly. "Not too long, I'm afraid. We're leaving for Normandy in the early morning tomorrow."

He nodded silently. It was the only thing he could think of as a response after hearing that. There was that moment of quiet again, that knowing silence that all units seem to experience in time. It was almost unnerving.

"Maybe we really will see each other gain out there," Emeline began to say.

"Maybe so. We'd be happy to see you if that's the case."

A quiet laugh slipped past her lips. She patted his arm gently as she moved past him. "I think you're one of the first to have that opinion, Eugene."

As she walked away, that lilt stopped her once more.

"Glad to see you're alright, Miss Emeline," was all he said. And somehow, it was all she needed to hear to give her peace of mind.

"Yeah… I'm glad to see you're alright too, Eugene. Really. You… stay safe out there, alright?"

The corners of his lips alluded to another one of his small smiles. He didn't smile much, she noticed. Quiet, perhaps even aloof, but he was nevertheless pleasant. Eugene Roe exuded a calm sort of confidence. It was different from most men she had met.

"Gonna try, miss."

She smiled lightly and disregarded the slight in formalities. Old habits die hard, it seemed. "Good night, Eugene."

"Night, Miss Emeline."

With a small wave in parting, the dark-haired nurse turned and headed down the hall. As she heard the door close behind her, she glanced over her shoulder and allowed her thoughts to wander.

_Eugene Roe_.

She stored that name in the depths of her mind. Along with George Luz and Bill Guarnere, along with the many faces of the men in the 506th. She tried to remember their faces, tried to recall any names. If the time ever came when their paths crossed again, she would've liked to remember any one of those men.

As she took off her garrison cap, she caught sight of her wristwatch and sighed quietly. Time hung over their heads like unhappy grey clouds and their recent furlough was much too short to be relaxing. They had a little over six hours before they were to leave for Portsmouth, six hours before they took their first steps into France, following the frontlines like they always had been. But oddly enough, those six hours were the most restful hours of sleep Emeline had ever gotten in the last six months.

* * *

**A/N**: **It's been months since I've updated this story, and I do apologize.**** Life kinda got in the way and side-tracked me for a long while. My writing skills have extremely rusty because of that, and writer's block is of no help either, but I wanted to come back to a few of my stories to kinda help get me out of my rut. I really, sincerely, thank those who've reviewed and expressed their interest in _Edelweiss_. The few recent notices that I've gotten in my inbox reminds me that there's someone out there that's reading and waiting for this story, and I really appreciate that type of support, so thank you very much. The next chapter will be up within the next few days, so until then I hope that whatever readers that I have will bear with me for just a bit longer :) **


	5. Chapter 4

**Edelweiss**

_We do not expect to hit without being hit back, and we intend with every week that passes to hit harder. Prepare yourselves, then, my friends and comrades, for this renewal of your exertions. We shall never turn from our purpose, however sombre the road, however grievous the cost, because we know that out of this time of trial and tribulation will be born a new freedom and glory for all mankind._

_**Prime Minister Winston Churchill – July 14, 1941**_

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**Chapter 4**

* * *

Dips and curves in the roads made their bodies sway gently in their seats. Beneath their feet was the constant rumble of their truck's travels; a hum that droned in their eardrums, a loitering grumble that vibrated through their bones. In some ways, it reminded Emeline of the C-46 they were on weeks back. But this was something she was used to. Cargo trucks and dirt roads were something they were all used to.

It had been only hours since they left Carentan. Almost three days had passed since they even stepped foot into France. Utah Beach had been long cleared of German entrenchments and obstacles by the time the 42d arrived. But even with the vast number of men lodged onto the beachhead, waiting to push further into the German lines, the scars of D-Day could still be distinguished from the hills above. Emeline could still remember it, could still smell it.

The briny air had twined with that unmistakable odor of decaying metal and ripened cordite. Scattered pieces of landing crafts and battered jeeps still littered some parts of the shores. Gorges, black and deep, ran down the faces of the high cliffs, jagged and scarred like old smoldered wounds. Nurses and officers and EMs couldn't help but wonder what those men had to go through, the very men they treated those last few weeks back. But, silently, some of them thanked God they weren't there to experience it themselves.

Carentan had been one of the only stable medical posts on the other side of the English Channel. By the time 42d's platoons gathered their supplies and personnel, the units they were assigned under were already far ahead of them. Third followed VII Corps south, supporting their regiments as they headed for the town of Périers. Second remained on the outskirts of Carentan to take care of the influx of wounded in the region.

First Platoon was now on the move west, supporting VIII Corps' regiments as they prepared for their push towards the town of Haye-du-Puits. The logistics and strategy of war weren't completely lost to the nurses. They knew the importance of seizing these cities and towns just as well as any of the men around them did. But for the time being their concerns revolved around the amount of provisions they had in their satchels and supply chests, on the miserable weather that drenched deep into their bones, on their grumbles of how uncomfortable the steel benches were beneath them.

"You're still reading? Christ, how can you read while we're in a moving truck? I can barely read a map without getting dizzy."

Emeline threw a glance beside her and smiled. "Months of practice, I suppose. Traveling on the back of these trucks gives everyone a lot of time on their hands."

"What are you reading this time, Emmy?"

With her fingers tucked between her current pages, she showed the book's spine to the inquisitive eyes peering over her shoulder.

"_The Grapes of… Wrath_?" She could almost feel the quirked brow Rhonda sent her. "You're… reading about angry grapes?"

"Sounds like a messed up kid's story to me…" Jane muttered as she rechecked the supplies in her satchel.

The thought only made Emeline laugh to herself. "No, it's nothing to do with little kids or grapes. Well… no, not completely."

"I read that novel last year," Leanne said. She leant forward in her seat and rose her voice, practically the only way to hear her throughout their trek. "I like it. John Steinbeck's works are always interesting reads. He's one of my favorite authors."

"What's it about?" asked Winnie.

"A family caught in the Depression."

Emeline stared at the cover of the novel. The lone black lines of the black-and-white illustration had faded from wear and travels. But it was still there, still simple yet vivid. She could almost see that old beat-up Hudson in her mind's eye, could almost see the Hovervilles lining the golden breadths of California's hills.

"When they lose their home and farmlands, they move from Oklahoma to California," she explained to no one in particular. "Everything they own is on the back of their truck and their whole family is with them—the kids, the parents, the grandparents, an uncle, even a preacher-friend of theirs. All of them are on the truck, constantly moving from one place to another. They work gritty and unfair jobs just to survive and they go through a lot of hardships along the way. But… despite all of that, they still try to stick together."

"That kinda sounds like us, doesn't it?" Winnie said with a little smile.

"Constantly moving, working gritty jobs, and a whole lotta hardships?" Jane chuckled under her breath and leant her head against the truck's interior railing. "Yeah, putting it that way pins it down to the 'T', Win."

As her friends conversed on, their words were lost from Emeline's reach. Her dark eyes lingered on the novel in her hands, taking in the black-and-white image with a scrutinizing gleam.

_That kinda sounds like us, doesn't it?_

She was inflicted with the urge to neither agree nor disagree.

Before long, the truck came to a gradual halt. Winnie and Rhonda lifted back the tarp flaps and the nurses peered around their new post. The open green expanse around them was surrounded by lush hedgerows. Mud and murky puddles soaked shallow dirt roads. Leaves from the thicket's edge nearby shivered amid the cool damp winds. They could only assume what setting up their tents would be like. But still they gathered their satchels and bags and hopped out of the cargo truck.

"Let's hustle up, fellas. And ladies," a smooth baritone voice called out from behind them. "Regiment's already set up their aid station a few miles out from here. They're gonna be pushing the lines toward Haye-du-Puits, so we need our wards up."

"Yes, sir," came instant replies.

Major Walter Lewis, their platoon CO, had a voice many could distinguish. He was a tall New England man, with dark brown hair and aged hazel eyes. Nearly fifteen years of military experience laid under his belt, along with over ten years of surgical practice. Being among the oldest in the unit already gave the man a certain level of respect. But his keenness towards medical practice and his aptitude for stern leadership made it all the more easier for others to rely on him.

"Lieutenant Vinson."

"Major Lewis?"

He smiled and glanced over the nurses. "You ladies holding up alright, then?"

"Other than the rain and the cold I think we're doing alright, sir. Can't complain much."

"Good to see you're all in high spirits despite this god-awful weather."

"Ah, I dunno, sir." Rhonda grabbed a crate from the cargo truck and grinned. "After all that time in Italy and North Africa, the cold seems pretty nice right now. I kinda like it."

Lewis chuckled. "Is that right? Let's just see if you'll have that opinion by Christmas then, McCormick. Central Europe's a big change from the Mediterranean."

"They say this war might be ending by Christmas," Winnie commented aloud as she began lugging one of the medical chests.

"The pool says otherwise," a southern twang belonging to Timothy Camden arose behind them. "Other boys are sayin' another year. Give or take a couple months."

"Most of the fellas are banking on Christmas though," surgical tech, Bobby Rugen, got out beside him, grabbing a chest from the back of the truck. "Push the Germans back towards the Rhine in the next few weeks and we can say 'Merry goddamn Christmas' to Hitler himself when infantry divisions take over Berlin."

"If we're lucky, that is."

"When are we ever lucky, Win?" Rhonda joked as she stacked a crate beside hers.

Lewis smiled faintly at the exchange. Despite the words brooding in the back of his mind, he didn't wish to give them voice. COs weren't blind to the pool their men had conjured up the last few months. Last he heard it was up to nearly 500 dollars. But Lewis never really cared much for it. The real stakes and incentives were much too large and costly for his liking of a gamble.

He turned to Jane and nodded. "Lieutenant, I expect completed schedules by the end of the day. We're gonna need two nurses on shift at the surgery stations and a group of litter-bearers on call at all times."

"Yes, sir."

Their CO murmured a simple 'carry on' and continued down their line of convoys, speaking with the other officers who stepped off the cargo trucks and jeeps. Jane sighed quietly and faced her friends.

"Alright girls." She held out her fist, grinning ever so slightly. "Best two out of three. Losers have the first surgery shifts."

The nurses grumbled quietly but still went on to settle who would be pulling the first rounds. After losing for the second time in a row, an inaudible curse left Emeline's lips and she walked away with a supply crate in her hands. She always hated rock-paper-scissors.

Within the day, First Platoon had set up their tents and wards on the fields. The soppy ground made their locale less than ideal, but they always made do. Surgery and x-ray stations had assembled towards the back of the bivouacs. Shock wards and triage were placed towards the front. In between were the extra holding wards for the men and post-ops wards for the slight and severe. On the other side of the road, company clearing stations had been assembled, already taking in patients under their care. No one knew how long exactly they would be staying in Haye-du-Puit's countryside, but by the next morning they were nevertheless ready.

Tumid grey clouds bogged the skies and the air grew thick and cold, threatening the acres with another streak of heavy downpour. A sigh left Emeline's lips naturally as she peered up at the dreary clouds above them. France would be a beautiful country if it weren't for this murky weather. Or this damn war, for that matter. But no one cared to state the obvious.

"C'mon, Emmy," came Winnie's voice from beside her. "Might as well head for the surgery stations. You know how much of a prick Pyle can be when we're late."

"I'm starting to see that for myself, actually," Emeline chuckled under her breath.

With their hands stuffed into their field jackets, snuffing out the cool wind that nipped at their exposed skin, the two nurses headed down the aisle of tents. They passed by the wards of the triage and found their friends sitting outside on old supply crates and discarded chests. Rhonda and Leanne were chatting away idly as they ate from their mess kits. Jane sat beside them, soaking it all in as she enjoyed another one of her cigarettes.

"I thought you said you'd kick the habit," Emeline pointed out with a knowing grin.

Jane turned her head and grinned faintly. "New year's resolution. Still got a few months left before I could try again."

Emeline rolled her eyes lightheartedly and continued down their camp. Trucks trundled past on the roadway nearby the surgical tents. Tires slushed mud and puddles from the road, engines roared to life as it made way. They were reinforcements from the VIII Corps, if they weren't mistaken. With any luck, most of them wouldn't need to step into their wards.

"Fuckin' dog!"

"Jesus Christ, move out of the way!"

Honking horns and loud curses continued to permeate the air. Winnie and Emeline turned around and watched as the trucks sauntered past slowly. A frown settled upon Winnie's features as she caught sight of a black dog, a bit scruffy and smaller in size and weight, standing on the other side of the road. Its head was lowered and its tail was tucked between its legs, stiff as the trucks bypassed him to continue on their way.

"Hey! C'mon." Winnie lowered to her haunches when the last of the convoy passed. Her lips puckered as she whistled loudly. "C'mere, pup!"

"Winnie…"

A crease settled between Winnie's brows as she shared a look with her friend. "He's in the middle of the road, Emmy. We can't just leave him there."

The dog sniffed at the ground and perked his ears at the sound of Winnie's whistle. His nose snuffed the ground once more before he took cautious steps forward.

"It's alright, pup. C'mon." Winnie looked around thoughtfully. "Haye-du-Puits is only a few miles out from here. And there's a few farmhouses out further down on these fields. He could've come from any one of those places.

Emeline leant forward, placing her hands on her knees as she stood beside her friend. She recognized that look on Winnie's face. "He's a dog, Win. We're in a field hospital. We can't afford to keep a stray dog around our camps."

"I know," Winnie said as she rose to her feet. She watched as the dog crossed the roadway and a smile toyed at her features. "Perfect! There. See? That's all I wanted.

Emeline chuckled quietly and tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. "C'mon. We need to get to the surgery station."

With a nod, Winnie stuffed her hands back into her field jacket and headed for the surgical wards. Emeline stared at the black dog for a moment, watching as his ears pricked up and his dark eyes drifted in their direction. Silently, she hoped that the dog would find a safer place than where they were now.

— ~ —

The upcoming week proved to be the more arduous than anyone expected. For the first three days, a panzer division and German artillery had slowed the regiments' progress on La Haye-du-Puits' surrounding hills. Gaining a couple hundred yards in the German lines, jumping from one hedgerow to another, was nearly all they could do, and even then it came with high risks and even higher costs. The Germans had no intentions of giving way easily, and it was no different for those occupying Haye-du-Puits.

Before withdrawing completely, the Germans had inflicted as much damage as they could on the divisions. Too many men were treated at their aid stations, clearing stations, or the First Platoon field hospital—much more than they had anticipated. Near-fatal artillery shells or mortar blasts, concealed shoe mines or hidden snipers, scouting units caught in crossfire—the reasons for these injuries began to pile one on top of another like the blood-soaked bandages they used to treat them. Battle of the Hedgerows was what they heard some men call it. After a week and a half in France and seeing it with their own eyes, the nurses began to understand why.

"Beavers are mean little bastards. They're in line with those damn Krauts, I tell ya. Beady little eyes and weird buck teeth." The soldier chortled to himself and sunk further into his cot. His words were still groggy and slurred. "Reminds me of that one girl back home. Buck-Tooth Sally." He chortled again. "Yeah, she was a strange girl. _Buck-Tooth_."

"Jesus Christ, what's he going on about?" The EM nudged his buddy beside him. "Joe, what the hell is wrong with this guy? He take a kraut grenade to the head or something?"

"Like hell I know, Duke. He's been mutterin' like that for the last two minutes."

Emeline walked up to the men, hiding a small smile into the sleeve of her jacket as she cleared her throat quietly. "Don't mind him too much, boys. He just got out of surgery. The anesthetics is gonna take another hour or so to wear off."

"Anesthetics? Christ, what kinda anesthetics did you use to knock him out, ma'am?"

"The ones that make you talk like my old Uncle Joey, apparently," she said with a quiet laugh. The soldier's gibberish lolled on quietly as she jotted down a quick note on his medical tag. After the first half-hour of eliciting his rambles, she figured it would be best to let him sober up on his own. "He'll be fine though. Just a few days rest and he should be alright for transport to one of the evac hospitals."

"You sound like one of the girls back home," the soldier muttered blearily as he looked up at the nurse. "Wendy Jamison. She's a funny girl…"

"The one who can sing and dance like the Andrews Sisters, right?" Emeline recalled with a smile.

He chortled. "Boy, can she dance."

With another quiet laugh, Emeline shook her head and stood up from her crouched position. She wasn't anything like the Andrews Sisters herself, but it was an entertaining notion in the back of her mind. "He's all yours, boys."

"I'm still convinced he took a kraut grenade to the head," the EM muttered as the soldier rambled on about other woodland creatures that were on side of the Germans.

Emeline only smiled to herself and followed the EMs as they carried the litter out of the tent. Outside, their entire camp had bustled to life. Trucks were being loaded and moved on the grassy fields, tents and wards were being dismantled and stored away. Even the clearing stations had long left the camp to follow after their companies. After a week and a half, the sodden ground of the fields had been rendered to muddy tracks and sundry patches of grass. A skeleton of a camp exposed to the brooding skies of the French domain.

"Last man for the holding unit?"

She turned at the sound of that voice and smiled in greeting. "Dillon? Yeah, he was. Still a bit out of it from the surgery, but he seems to be doing fine. Ah… do you need help with those, Rugen?"

The surgical tech glanced down at the stack of crates in his hands and chuckled. "Ah, this? Nah, it's alright. I can handle it. Jane and the others were looking for you earlier though. Down by the convoys. Can't miss them."

"Alright. Thanks, Rugen."

"Yep, no problem. Hey, we're leaving for St. Lô in a bit, y'know. Next half hour if we're lucky. Tell the girls."

"Got it."

With a small wave in parting, Emeline turned and headed down the worn footpath. Further down on the east road was their convoy of cargo trucks and jeeps. Most were full of equipment and medical trunks, others were full of waiting EMs. As she approached the familiar faces further down the line, the truth in Rugen's words began to finally sink in.

"Hey, there you are, Emmy. We were wondering what took you so long."

"Sorry. Got a bit held up with the guys from the evac hospital." She sat down at the edge of the truck bed beside Leanne and sighed. "Thank God for these holding units."

"Kinda wished they thought of this whole holding unit system two years ago though," Jane muttered as she flicked the ashes off her cigarette. "Would've saved us a lot of time back then, hm?"

Emeline smiled faintly. "You girls already packed for St. Lô then?"

"Yep." Winnie patted the truck bed and beamed. "Everything we got is in the truck already. Camden and Rugen are riding with us again too. It's not that bad of a haul when they come along with us, now that I think of it."

"It's always entertaining with those two around. Dozer and Kleinfeld too, but I think they're riding with the other boys this time." Rhonda nudged Emeline gently by the shoulder and grinned. "But with Camden and Rugen around? Like I said, give it a few weeks and it's mission accomplished."

Emeline threw a quick glance at Leanne before settling her gaze on her grinning friend. A tired smile curled her lips as she rubbed her brow. "Since when did _that_ become a mission?"

"Since me and Jane made a bet on it last week."

A quiet laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. "You two are horrible."

"Hey, we're gonna let nature run its course," Rhonda rose her hands defensively, turning to join Jane, Winnie, and Dozer a truck down the line. "It just so happens we're guessing when all that goes into full effect."

_Don't really need Camden or Rugen then. With just you and Jane that's already a job well done._ The thought only roused a dry laugh.

"Between you and me," Leanne began to say quietly beside her. She smiled that shy smile of hers. "I already know about that bet. They're… probably gonna wait a long while for it to come true though."

"Yeah, I think so too," Emeline agreed lightheartedly.

Before Leanne could even think of voicing her thoughts aloud, a sharp cry impaled the chilly air. It was a high-pitched shrill, almost like an aching yelp. Curses and mutters ran through their eardrums, thick and hazy in that moment of stillness. The nurses shared a look between them and stood on their feet instantly. Emeline saw a few EMs crowd around a jeep a couple yards up the convoy line and made way towards them.

Their words were low whispers, simple murmurs. Neither nurse could make sense of it. They stood beside one of the medics, but he simply shook his head at the sight and walked away. Emeline's expression soon became a distortion between surprise and a dismayed grimace. Beside her, Leanne reacted with more open alarm.

"Hey, the hell's going on?" Jane walked to the front of the small crowd. "Why is…"

Rhonda frowned instantly. "Jesus Christ…"

Emeline turned and tried to catch Winnie by her arm. "Winnie, wait—"

But her attempt came too late. The younger nurse walked past her friends, slowly crouching down beside a bewildered medic from another unit. Her brows furrowed and a distinct frown settled on the contours of her lips. A part of her felt that sympathetic sadness, that natural loss for life. Another part of her felt outright frustration and pity.

"Fuckin' dog," the man muttered. He glanced at Winnie with a vague look of shame when he felt her stare on him. "I didn't see him until it was too late. It just walked in the middle of the road, for fuck's sake. I couldn't see him."

_Poor pup_, was the only thing Winnie could think.

The black dog, scruffy and small in size and weight, was an unmistakable mess. Blood pooled from its crushed chest, mixing with the sodden puddles beneath it. Its black fur, matted and dirty, made it impossible to make out anything else. But to some extent those who saw it were glad for the gruesome ambiguity.

"Poor fella," Dozer muttered as he stood beside Winnie. "He kinda looks like one of the little guys on my Pop's ranch. Shame, though. Dogs don't last long in the middle of a war like this."

"We can't just leave him like this, in the middle of the road. We should do something."

A flicker of confliction appeared in Jane's dark brown eyes. "We're leaving for St. Lô soon, Win. We don't have time to do much of anything proper."

"I'll take care of it. It's the right thing to do, even for a dog. Me and this guy here," Dozer looked at the medic's tag stitched on his satchel, "McDonnell. It'd probably be faster if me and him did it ourselves anyway. Ain't that right, McDonnell?"

The medic glanced up at the tall burly man with raised brows. Those dark green orbs flicked between the nurses and the few EMs around them before lowering to the ground. His cheeks flushed a pink tinge and he stiffened from the pairs of eyes on him, but still he nodded curtly. "Yeah, I'll help…" was all he said.

"Go on, ladies." Dozer eased Winnie to her feet and motioned her back to the other nurses. "I think I just heard them starting up some of the trucks. Lewis and Pyle won't appreciate it too much if their nurses are missing. Don't mind much here. We got it handled."

Winnie nodded in appreciation. That twinkle of liveliness was gone from those emerald orbs, and that unfaltering bright smile was missing from her plump features. Emeline knew just as well as the other women that it was only a matter of time before Winnie bounced back somehow, smiling that wholehearted smile of hers, laughing at some kind of joke Camden or Rugen would tell her. But for that moment, they only went on in silence.

Emeline gave a gentle squeeze to Winnie's arm as she walked past. The younger nurse returned the gesture with a soft pat to her hand and smiled weakly. Rhonda slung her arm over her friend's shoulder and led her back to their truck, silent all the while but unyielding in that strong comforting aura she exuded.

"C'mon." Jane patted Leanne and Emeline's shoulder reassuringly as she walked past them. "Let's get moving, girls."

Dozer and McDowell gathered shovels and Emeline turned to look away. As she turned to follow after her friends, she realized her footsteps trekked the dirt roads alone.

"…Wrath."

Leanne's words were faint, but undeniably spoken. Emeline heard them as clear as any, though a part of her still doubted them.

"Pardon?" she found herself saying.

"Oh, no—just… thinking aloud," Leanne murmured. A reddish hue smothered her cheeks as she averted her gaze to anything but the men behind them. "Have you… finished reading that novel yet, Emmy? _The Grapes of Wrath_?"

Leanne's question lingered in the back of her mind, suddenly incomprehensible, unknown. "Ah… no. Not yet, no," she said. "I've been meaning to but…"

_A lie_. But she couldn't comprehend what drove her to say it.

Leanne nodded slowly, almost surprised at hearing that response. But she smiled lightly nonetheless and fiddled with the long sleeves of her jacket. "Well… I hope you do finish it. The story… It's good."

Emeline nodded in acknowledgement. Dark mahogany eyes watched as Leanne walked past before settling on Dozer and McDowell as they worked. Shovels were in their hands as they dug the grave in the side of the road, earnest expressions settled upon their faces as they wrapped the black dog in an old drab blanket. As she turned to walk towards their convoy, Jane's words from days before, faint and fleeting in her memory, began to resonate in the back of her mind.

_Constantly moving, working gritty jobs, and a whole lotta hardships_.

Those links fortified in her mind, and she allowed herself to see some of the truth in those words. But she couldn't think to let it go beyond any more than simple coincidence. _The Grapes of Wrath_ was a different story, during a different time. It wasn't anything like this war.

* * *

_*The Battle of the Hedgerows (roughly July 3, 1944 to July 19, 1944) was an unofficial term for the series of firefights and battles between the American and German armies within the French countryside as the Americans pushed on toward the French city of __St. Lô_. The local terrain (called bocage_) was essentially fields and farmlands bordered by hedges and small trees. These hedges made it difficult to see past the next field or hedgerow, and was often like fighting in a maze during the early stages of battle. But this environment was favored by the Germans, who had trained and occupied the lands for months._

_*Field hospitals had a particular system of moving with the frontlines called "leap-frogging". One platoon of a field hospital could work with a particular infantry division and when they had to move with their divisions, they would leave the wounded with another platoon or hospital who was often within close proximity. These platoons would continue to "leap-frog" with one another throughout the war. _


	6. Chapter 5

**Edelweiss**

_The task that we Americans now face will test us to the uttermost. Never before have we been called upon for such a prodigious effort. Never before have we had so little time in which to do so much._

**President Franklin D. Roosevelt – February 23, 1942**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

July and August had rolled together seamlessly, constant and fluid like the oceans surges they crossed all those weeks back. Since the battles at St. Lô, First Platoon had been following the 9th Infantry Division throughout France. By mid-September, they were stationed outside the city of Laon, only an hour from the France-Belgium borders. From Haye-du-Puits to St. Lô to the Falaise Gap—the field hospitals relocated and sought to the wounded from them all.

But the new autumn weather that held them in its tattered and clammy clutches made things considerably miserable. Mud that tracked into the tents was hazardous and abundant. Rain that seeped from the tarp's lining overhead soaked dry blankets and cots. Cases of trench foot and pneumonia began to grow in numbers as they drew closer and closer to Germany. 'When I said I liked the weather, I didn't mean I liked it for almost a month straight,' Rhonda once joked during one of their breaks. Small quips and shared laughs like that were done in humor, albeit in humor that was as dry as the hot Italian beaches they were beginning to sorely miss.

All of them, the nurses especially, had a hard time grasping that it had already been over two months since they stepped into France. Hours were lost within their work and time muddled into one continuous round. Worries revolved around clean bandages and fresh linens, available bottles of plasma and whole blood, access to morphine and antibiotics. For most, it felt as though they had arrived on the beaches of Normandy only days ago. There was so much that they had done, and even more that they needed to do. By the time they reached the edge of France, it almost seemed like they were in deadlocked battle with Father Time and Mother Nature themselves.

"Lieutenant, we need those linens for the surgical wards," Captain Pyle ordered in his usual taut New England tone. He stopped at the flap of the triage ward and lifted his gaze from the clipboard in his hands, eying the nurse with sharp navy eyes. "_Today_, preferably."

Captain David Pyle was a no-nonsense man. Neatly cut brown hair was always kept tidy and in place, his face was always clean-shaven and fresh, ODs were always immaculate and unsoiled. Young by appearance and old by heart, he had a severity uncommon amongst men of thirty-two years old. But despite his lack of general appeal and charm, Pyle was one of the finest surgeons in their unit. Few had actually warmed up to his austere antics, but many had sense to give respect when respect was due. Even if it was during moments where they honestly didn't care or wish to.

"We're doing all we can, sir," Emeline replied politely. "I'll try to get those linens within the next hour."

"See to it that you do, hm?"

Without so much as a second glance, the captain stepped out of the wards, tracking soppy grass and mud behind him with every step. Emeline let out the repressed sigh she had been holding in and rubbed her forehead wearily. She glanced down at her wristwatch, noting that it was already the late afternoon. Their last batch of laundry had barely passed the standards of dry not even an hour ago. How she was going to find a way to dry another batch within the next hour, she hadn't a clue.

Shaking her head at the thought, Emeline grabbed a few fresh dressings from the medical chest in front of her and headed down the aisle of cots.

"C'mon, Sergeant." Winnie gently pushed on a GI's shoulder to ease him back onto his cot. "You know you gotta stay put if you wanna get better."

Dark grey eyes glanced up at the nurse and the man tried to sit up. "I'm fine, ma'am. I should be out there right now."

He was a relatively younger man, mid-twenties if she were to guess. His voice was raspy and congested, his breaths long and drawn out. A deep cough rattled within his chest, shaking his body as a fit took hold. Winnie eyed him with a knowing look.

"Yeah, you sound mighty fine, Sergeant," she said lightheartedly. Another bundled up blanket was placed under his head as the bout of coughs came around. "Here, just relax your legs and shoulders. There ya go. Stay elevated like this and take it easy, alright? As long as you take up to the antibiotics nicely, the pneumonia will pass. You'll be up and out of here in no time."

Strain etched the contours of his face as he chuckled. "Is that a promise, ma'am?"

"It'll be an order if you don't knuckle down and rest," she joked.

Emeline smiled faintly to herself. Winnie always had a way with getting along with the soldiers through friendly lines somehow. That natural bright smile of hers was helpful, but Emeline always thought there was something more to it than that.

"You should be on your break, Win."

Winnie glanced up from the quick note she made on a medical tag and smiled weakly. "It's only five o'clock. I can work a bit longer."

She nudged her shoulder gently. "Go and take a break. You've been at it since six this morning."

"It's already been that long?" Winnie muttered. As she readjusted the cloth that held up her dark auburn locks, she glimpsed at her friend questioningly. "Hey, what about you, Emmy? Dinner's already up. You should be on your break to grab a bite to eat too."

"I will. Just gonna wait for Viggo to take over for a bit before I leave. You should go though. Me and Thompson can handle the ward until then."

"You sure? I could help out a bit until—"

"Nurse!" They turned towards the open flap of the tent and found an anxious medic approaching them. Blood smeared across the front of his uniform and helmet. Panic flickered across his young features. Their senses keened instantly. "W—We need your help, ma'am. We have a guy in pretty bad shape and the clearing stations ordered us to come here—"

"Bring him in and set him on the first cot," Emeline instructed without hesitation. She turned to Winnie and lowered her voice. "Win, hook the tarps to the third pole to cover the front ward. Tell Thompson to look after the boys for now. They don't need to see what's going on."

Winnie nodded and moved down the aisle. Only one GI laid on those first two rows, watching as the nurses moved around with calm but intent purpose. Emeline crouched down between the cots and smiled faintly as she cleared off the one beside him.

"How are you holding up, soldier?"

"Considering I had about two bullets in me not too long ago, I'm fine, ma'am," he said with a small grin. He glanced between her and Winnie. "Is everything alright? What's going on?"

Two EMs came into the tent, placing the litter on the cot Emeline had motioned to. She glanced at the GI with a reassuring gaze. "Is your shoulder alright? And your leg?"

"Sore as fuckin' hell, but I think I'll live, ma'am."

"That's good then." A small smile was thrown his way. "It means the surgery went over well. I'll check in on you again in another hour, alright? Just get some rest. You two," she turned her gaze to the two EMs she didn't recognize. "I need you boys to take Corporal Keene to the post-ops ward one tent over. Tell them Nurse Emeline is asking to make room for him. The nurse there will understand."

The EMs bristled slightly but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, ma'am."

Emeline turned her attention to the man on the litter and glimpsed over him quickly. Crimson pools that soaked his shirt made it difficult to make out anything else. Dirt and sweat covered his face, darkening his pale skin. Deep breaths, pained and trying, escaped his cracked lips. Blood seeped through the medic's fingers as he continued to apply pressure to the bandage on his shoulder. But her concern laid elsewhere.

She pressed the fresh dressing against the soaked bandages across his chest. "What's his name?"

"Peewee. Err—Peter Davenport. And I'm Quinn. Randall Quinn. We're in the 357th, part of 90th Infantry."

There was a subtle nod in acknowledgement. She cupped the left side of the soldier's face, patting it gently. "Peter? Peter, do you hear me? C'mon soldier, you gotta open your eyes for me." No response came, only a series of ragged breaths and swallowed attempts for words. She pulled at his eyelid gently, peering into dazed blue eyes to make sense of his pupils. "How long ago did this happen?"

"I-I'm not sure. Fifteen, twenty minutes ago, maybe?" He moved aside when Winnie crouched beside him to take over. All the facts he had tucked away soon jumped to the forefront of his mind. "They got ambushed while on patrol. I did what I could when they brought him to me. One bullet to his shoulder and another in his chest, but no exit wounds. We used sulfa powder for the gunshot wounds, and the last of my iodine swabs to clean off the grazes on his arm."

The man's breathing turned shallow. Winnie disregarded the abrasions on his arms and simply wrapped another bandage to his shoulder, applying pressure to it firmly.

"And morphine?" Emeline asked as she checked the wound to his chest.

"I… I'm not sure, ma'am."

Her dark gaze fell on him in an instant. Winnie furrowed her brows as well and stared at the younger man with an air of demand. "What do you mean 'you're not sure'?"

The medic stared back at them with reluctant dismay. "They didn't syrette his collar, and his squad didn't give me a clear answer when I asked them how many they gave him. Two I think, but I can't be sure."

"Within fifteen minutes?" Emeline felt her patience thin slightly. "Do your boys not know what the hell happens to men if they give them that much morphine within a short amount of time?"

"I know the consequences, ma'am," the medic stated roughly. "And I know the risks. The guys in my company don't. They're not medics. They did what they thought they needed to. Peewee was in pain, what else could they think to do?"

Emeline sighed quietly. Quarrelling over something as petty as ignorance was beyond pointless. Time and again she had buried that spur of irritation within herself. It was like a bad cold that simply wouldn't vanish, infectious when amongst certain people but preventable by almost any and all means. But after so long, she was almost too tired to give it any more concern.

"_Teach _them," she said after a brief moment of collecting herself. She turned the soldier on his side to affirm there was nothing they missed on his back. "We've had too many close calls because these boys think they're helping their buddies when they're near killing them instead. You don't need to be a lieutenant or a nurse to tell your men what happens when they give a man too much morphine. One syrette, one man. Beat that into their skulls if you have to, but they _need_ to know that."

"You're giving a medic permission to actually do some physical harm, ma'am?" Emeline didn't have to see the subtle smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. She could almost hear it.

She rested the soldier back to his supine position as she muttered, "Don't tempt me to."

"Emeline."

Davenport's breathing grew shorter and strained. Emeline placed her ear on the right side of his chest beside the bandages. The movement in his chest was sporadic, unnatural. "His right lung's collapsing."

"What? But he was… Goddammit, c'mon Peewee."

"We can take it from here, Quinn," Winnie soothed as she readied a bottle of plasma from their wares.

"Where's… my goddamn kit." Emeline patted at her pockets uselessly. "I need a needle—"

"I have one ma'am." Quinn answered before either could say another word. He pulled out a kit from one of his many pockets and revealed the hypodermic needle from its pouch. The nurses stole a glance at each other before turning their stares on the medic. With one hand pressed against the bloodied gauze, and the other rifling quickly through her satchel, Emeline jutted her chin toward the needle in Quinn's hand.

"Use it. Treat him now, we don't have much time leave it for the surgeons."

"M… Me? Y-You're tell me to do it?"

"They taught you this in basics, didn't they?" Winnie started the GI on the blood plasma transfusion. "You can do it, Quinn."

Quinn blinked. "Y-Yeah, but that was—"

"Listen to me." Emeline's voice went quiet, firm—a tone with no room from protest. She glanced up as she placed extra squares of gauze atop the bloodied dressings on his chest. "Feel against his ribs with your fingers. Do it now. Third intercostal space, midclavicular line. Do you feel that? Push the needle through there."

The uncertainty that shone in the medic's eyes wasn't concealed in any way, but it never once hindered his actions, however nervous and trepid they were. Air quietly hissed as soon as he plunged the needle between the soldier's ribs. Deep breaths were gradually being taken, slow but eventually steady. Seeing it was from the GI in front of them made their collective sighs more distinct.

"He needs surgery," Emeline asserted as she fixed the patches of gauze in place with medical tape.

"Lewis and Errol are already in surgery though," Winnie reasoned quietly. "It's gonna be another half-hour or so before they're clear for another one. And Pyle…"

Emeline sighed. "I know…"

Her dark mahogany eyes settled on the GI with a scrutinizing gleam. The man drifting in and out of consciousness was in dire straits, and supplies within their wards at that moment were limited. But even with a fully stocked truck under their hypothetical wing, their attempts at stalling time would only be in vain if Peter Davenport didn't get to surgery within the next ten minutes. As the tarp flap rustled open, Emeline stood up from her crouched position and stared at the two EMs. She wiped her hands on a square of drab cloth and made way towards them.

"I know you two aren't with our clearing units, but I need you to take Private Davenport to the surgical wards further down the camp. He isn't going to last long if we wait for someone else to."

One glance at the man on the litter and the EMs spoke up without hesitation. 'Don't worry about it, ma'am,' and 'we'll take care of him, ma'am,' was their response.

"Win, can you look over the ward until I get back? I'm gonna explain the situation to Pyle." Emeline tucked the cloth back into her satchel and zipped up her tanker jacket. "God knows how much of a stubborn front the man is gonna put up."

"I got it—"

"Ma'am, I'll go." The medic rose to his feet instantly and placed his helmet atop short copper locks. As Winnie stood beside him, she shared a look with an equally-surprised Emeline.

"Are you sure?" Winnie asked him.

"Peewee's in my platoon. He's one of my men, and he's been under my care. I'm a medic. I'm supposed to make sure he gets the medical attention he needs. I intend on doing that till the end, ma'am."

A twinge of respect nestled deep within Emeline's chest. Medics always had an audacity that went unrivaled against most men. She came to see this herself the first few weeks after she stepped foot into this war. Seeing it come to light again made the corners of her lips curl naturally. "You're gonna be asking for Captain Pyle then. He's a bit of a hard-ass when it comes to Army protocol and surgery in his wards. But he's one of the best surgeons we have in our unit. He _will_ turn you away because of the lack of supplies he has at the moment, but tell him the nurses in triage insist."

"You can even tell him to go to hell if he turns you away the first time," Winnie said with a faint grin, unhooking the green tarps that separated their wards. "That usually gets his attention long enough to hear you out."

Emeline smiled knowingly and glanced up at the medic. Tufts of his copper hair peeked from under his helmet and dark green eyes looked down at the nurse with a slightly puzzled gleam. As if he had just missed the punch-line of some inside joke.

"Reason with Pyle. He may not like it, but he wouldn't risk a man's life if there was still a chance to save it instead. If he really has a problem with it, then tell him he can take it up with me later. Or you can tell him to go to hell. It's your choice."

The corners of his lips twitched aloft and he tipped his helmet towards the nurse. "Will do, ma'am."

"Quinn." He stopped at the flap of the wards and turned around to face her. After a fleeting moment, she gave a courteous nod, a simple gesture of approval. "You did good, Quinn."

He considered her words for a second and returned the gesture with a nod of his own. "So did you, ma'am."

As she watched the medic leave their ward, her mind dwelled on those simple words. She couldn't remember the last time she's heard them. She wasn't even sure what compelled her to say them in that moment. A part of her reasoned it was for the sake of words being spoken. Another part, though, felt it wasn't done for just for Quinn but for her as well.

Work around the camp, shifts amongst the wounded—all of it had pushed them forward, driving them to keep focus on the present, an inkling of what could happen in the future. But much too often when they were given that moment of peace, their inner reflections of the past were little else beyond a source of torment. Constant reminders of what they did wrong, what they could've or should've done, would be like that pitiless nightmare that dwelled in the back of their conscience. Many learnt to work past it, and almost all learnt to accept it. But those few moments, however far and wide between they may be, were crippling.

_You did good today_.

But hearing that, even saying it, was like a much needed mental respite. It was a reassurance for their spirits, simple as it seemed. It was a reminder. They did _good_ that day.

"Where've _you_ been, Viggo?" came Winnie's voice laced in mild amusement.

Emeline came to her senses and walked towards the tin tub at the front of the tent to wash up. Sergeant Michael Viggo, one of their unit's other technicians, glanced between the nurses with a curiously arched brow.

"What? I just got back from dinner. Hey, a guy's gotta eat, right?"

"Well you're in luck then," Winnie grinned and patted his shoulder as he walked past her. "You've had your fill on grub, now we're off to do the same. You're in charge of the ward for now."

"Oh ho! That's lucky, is it?"

"If you've just eaten, sure. A full tummy is a happy tummy. Or so my Momma used to always say when I was a kid. You'd rather go through an entire shift on an empty stomach?"

"For twelve to eighteen hours straight? To hell with that."

"Glad you agree. I'm stealing Emmy away from you guys for a bit then so she could get something to eat. Hold down the fort, will ya?"

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Viggo said with a small grin and mock-salute.

The nurses stepped out of the green tent and into the cool autumn winds. Stray streams of sunlight peeked over the edges of grey billows overhead, disappearing behind its cloudy refuge for seconds before peering out once more. Nature's game of hide-and-seek, as they've all seen. Emeline savored the orange glow the clouds illuminated above them nevertheless. It was good to see some type of light after so many weeks without it.

Her head moved to and fro as she kneaded the tense muscles in between her neck and shoulders. Beside her, Winnie had stretched her arms above her head. Conspicuous pops reached their ears and they shared a groan of pleasure.

"What I would give for a good massage…"

"You should talk to Roark about that then. I honestly think he should look into being a masseur when we reach stateside. He gives amazing massages."

"How exactly did you come about knowing that?" Winnie grinned.

A playful smile tugged at Emeline's lips. "One lonely night in our wards somewhere in the French Morocco."

"I never knew Jon Roark was your type, Emmy."

An image of the relatively tall EM came to mind. Jon Roark was older than her by only two years at twenty-five. Scrawny in build, but Roark wasn't too bad to look at with dark blonde hair, deep cobalt eyes, and a lean look about his face. Dirty jokes and packs of cigarettes were his pleasure during this war, and his long list of curse words and obscenities were at hand to be used daily. But he was still a good man, Emeline saw that. She smiled and shook her head.

"Roark's a good guy, but I didn't mean it that way. I… don't think I even have a type, to be honest," she admitted almost sheepishly.

Winnie smiled. "Why not? Everyone has a type."

"I…" She couldn't deny the flush she felt. "Well, I guess… it's just not something I can think about right now."

"You know…" Winnie slung her arm over her friend's shoulder. "When this war's over, there's gonna be _thousands_ of free men out there to choose from. Doesn't hurt to have a little bit of an elimination process to narrow 'em down, missy."

Emeline laughed softly. "I'll worry about that when the war ends then."

"Three more months."

"Ah, now that's just—"

"Angel. Can we talk?" The nurses turned around instantly. Rhonda flicked her gaze between her friends before settling on the dark-haired nurse. "It really can't wait."

Emeline recognized the look that Rhonda gave her, the quiet calm in her voice, the stiffness in her posture. She recognized it all but something in her still hollowed. It was a bracing feeling. As if someone had just given her an IV of pure ice, a true cold that rushed through her veins and numbed her limbs.

"We'll see you in a bit, Win."

"Yeah…" Her smile faded gradually to a puzzled look as she looked between the older nurses. "Sure. We'll wait for you then, Emmy."

With a weak smile, Emeline followed Rhonda into the post-ops ward they passed. Winnie stared after them in confusion but continued down the camp towards their quarters. Her mind wandered, lost in contemplations over the strange expressions she saw on her friends' faces.

The older nurses made way down the aisle of cots. Their expressions remained calm, their footstep quiet and slow. Eyes flickered around the litters, subconsciously checking on the men and those around them. Words spoken between them were almost lost to the quiet veil within their station.

"I didn't get a chance to say thanks for taking in some of the overflow," Rhonda said. "Triage isn't exactly the best place for boys in post-ops, but I figured it'd be better than shock."

"I can see why you had to," the dark-haired nurse murmured as she scanned the full station.

"I know you're off on shift soon, but…"

Emeline shook her head. "I asked you to come to me if anything happened, Rhon. It doesn't ever matter when or where."

Rhonda sighed and grabbed her friend's arm, stopping them in the middle of the aisle. Her voice grew even softer. "We stopped the bleeding in his legs again, but we can't keep doing this, Emeline. He's been in and out of consciousness since Wendell had a look over him."

Like times before, she steeled herself for this moment. After so long, that mental suit of armor was battered. Dented and worn from two years near the frontlines of this war. But it was placed on, braved, like the shining plate of succor it once was.

"And now?"

"Not good," Rhonda replied honestly. "We can only keep him comfortable for now. Wendell ordered me to stop his IV drip half an hour ago." Her hesitation surfaced in that moment of quiet. "He doesn't even think the lieutenant is gonna last to the night. I don't want to agree with him, but it's a miracle he's even made it this long in his condition."

Emeline let out a quiet breath and turned to head further down the aisle. She tugged at the hairband that tied her loose braid, relishing the unhampered feeling of her hair over her shoulders. Slim fingers brushed through the long dark locks before curling to zip up her tanker jacket, hiding the bloodied smudges on the front of her ODs.

Rhonda stared at her friend with a flicker of sympathy. "You don't have to do this, Emmy."

"I know," came her quiet reply. But still she gave her friend a small smile and continued down the row.

Only a small part of the back ward had been separated from the rest. Two cots, one on each side, had been laid out. Emeline pulled back the tarp and found only one had been occupied. A gas lamp in the corner illuminated the small space, casting forlorn shadows across the cots and olive green tarps. Fresh blood, thick in that sickeningly sweet odor, permeated the stilled air. Soft breaths, raspy and shallow, fell into a rhythm amid that calm. She noticed the overturned supply crate beside the cot and carefully, quietly, made way towards it.

_Broken_.

Emeline hated that word. She hated using it to describe the men that come through their stations. It was callous, unnatural for a human, much less a single man. But staring at the soldier then, she understood why Wendell gave those orders to Rhonda when he had; she understood why Rhonda gave her that look before she left.

Blood seeped through bandages that were wrapped around the soldier's skull, staining the drab blankets beneath his head. Half of his face was wrapped in gauze and dressings, the other half swollen and flushed to a deep hued red. Stitches and cuts lined both his arms and bandages recently wrapped around his chest were now sullied in dark crimson. Another drab blanket had covered his body up to his abdomen, but she didn't need to see the bandages that covered him. She was one of the first people to treat him. She already saw the damage. She didn't need to see or hear anything else about it.

She caught sight of the metal dog-tags on his chest. One glimpse and his name was tucked within the recesses of her memory. _Robert Langley. _Lieutenant Robert Langley, 90th Infantry Division. A handsome man, she could tell. He was older, with a strong build and square features to match. That much she could make out.

She reached under his chin, resting her fingers along his carotid. His pulse was faint, but still beating. With a strangled grunt, the man stirred in his place. Emeline straightened in her makeshift seat and leant forward. A swollen dark grey eye skimmed over the nurse, registering her and everything around them at unhurried speeds.

"W… Who…"

She smiled. "Do you remember your name, soldier?"

He swallowed hard. The words were almost stuck in his throat. "Rob Langley. 3… 358th, 90th Infantry."

"That's good, Lieutenant," she smiled into her quiet words. "My name's Emeline. I'm a nurse, with the 42d Field Hospital. I'm gonna look after you for now, alright?"

It was a struggle to speak. His voice was hoarse and he had to catch his breath between those slow, quiet words. He saw the bandages that covered him, his body and his face. But he couldn't make sense of the pain or the blood. Everything was faint to him, as if it were an elusive dream at the tips of his fingers. Still, he tried to reach out for it, grasping at anything, trying for the sake of trying.

"I… remember you."

"Do you?"

"Your voice… I heard it somewhere…"

"Well, I talk to a lot of the boys under our care," she reasoned with a little smile. "Even the ones who might not hear me."

"You have… a nice voice," he murmured as his eye closed. "I remembered… You said a lot… but it sounded… calm. Nice. Like a lullaby…"

Her cheeks flushed to a light tint. She simply brushed past it and the kindly look settled upon her features. "How are you feeling now, Robert?"

"Tired, ma'am…"

"You just try and rest then. I'll be right here…"

He shook his head lightly and reached for her hand. His dark gaze settled on her, staring at her with dazed drowsiness. "Can I… ask you something… ma'am?"

"You can ask anything."

"How… old are you?"

She stared back at him in wonder. "I'm twenty-three. Twenty-four in February."

A ghost of a smile shadowed his features. "You're… the same age as my sister… ma'am. She's five years… younger than me."

"I bet your sister is a lovely lady, Robert."

"Last time I saw her… she was like a little… runt." He chuckled airily into his words. Emeline smiled lightly along with him and glanced down at the hand that held hers. "Always been a runt… to me. I miss those crazy… little moments she had. She had… spunk."

"Sounds like she's a strong woman then. She probably got that from her older brother, hm?"

The curl of his lips almost came painfully. "She didn't even… want me to be in… this war at first…"

Emeline glimpsed down at their hands and squeezed his fingers gently. "Little sisters don't wanna see their big brothers hurting in this war. But… we understand why you keep fighting anyway. And we're proud of you boys for that. I'm sure she's proud seeing her brother serving now too."

"Me serving…" Breathing suddenly became difficult. A sharp pain pounded the back of his skull, but he fought against it. Blearily, he glanced at the nurse. The spur of guilt churned within his chest. "What happened… to my men, ma'am?"

"They're here, Lieutenant. You've led them this far. They're okay now."

"All of them…"

"It's alright," she soothed softly. "They're resting nicely now. Some are even out there back on the lines. You'll be doing the same soon, Lieutenant. You'll see. Don't you worry about them."

A small part of him, that subconscious part that reasoned with fact and fiction, knew it was a lie. But that voice told him it was okay. That soothing voice, soft and gentle, told him not to worry about it. _Everything was fine_, was what she was trying to say. And he wanted to believe in that. His body began to relax. Everything was turning faint again, and the pain in the back of his head didn't bother him anymore. He believed in her. It really did seem like everything would be okay.

"I tried, ma'am…" he murmured quietly as he his eyelid began to feel heavy. His words were getting harder and harder to say. "I really… really did try. But I'm getting… tired now… ma'am."

Emeline felt an ache in her chest. Another dent in that hardened armor. Her gaze fell to hand she held in her grasp and she gave it another tight squeeze. The smile on her face pulled at her features took trying effort, but still she nodded her head.

"That's fine, Lieutenant. You led your men, and you fought as hard as you could. You can go to sleep now. You did good."

She watched as he gave a small nod. His eye closed and his chest moved up and down in its rhythmic cadence. Moments passed and his shallow breaths grew more and more sporadic. A quiver shook his chest as his lungs struggled with that last breath. Silence settled within that small space, a deafness that rung in her eardrums with every second that passed. The stillness that hung in the air weighed as heavily as reality did.

"You did good, Lieutenant. You did real good."

Everything after that moment moved like a blur. The chaplain that whispered silent prayers of respect and blessing, the litter-bearers who carried Robert Langley away, the papers she checked and signed, the footsteps she took as she walked down the camp's footpaths. She came to her senses when she found herself at their tented quarters, being greeted with small smiles and words from Winnie and Leanne, knowing nods and gestures from Jane and Rhonda. A weak smile was the only thing she could scrounge up in response.

As she sunk down onto her cot, she felt weighed down. Her ODs felt like a shell, a hollow casing that confined her limbs and nearly strangled her across the neck. She stared down at her hands and saw the dirt that mixed with blood beneath her fingernails, the grime that lined her cuticles. It all felt foreign. Like it was a layer she couldn't wash off or change. But even then, despite how small and restrained she felt, she almost couldn't bother to do anything about it. She was tired. After all that happened, she was awfully tired.

"Alright?"

The nurse threw a quick glimpse beside her. "Yeah. Yeah, just… a long day is all."

Jane gave a comforting squeeze to her shoulder. She sat down beside her, respecting the silence that nestled between them. "Did you hear from Lewis or Pyle yet?" she asked after a while.

"Hear what?"

"We're heading into Belgium within the next few days. Probably the day after tomorrow, when we get supplies in from Laon."

Emeline pursed her lips in thought. "Do the girls know?"

"Just told them earlier. Lewis is gonna announce it to the camp at the mess hall later."

"The supply drop better be a big one," Emeline murmured as she rubbed her forehead wearily. "We're running low on almost everything here."

There was a quiet snort at the thought. "Wouldn't stop us even if it wasn't a big one. They'd still have us support the frontlines somehow. We're heading for the German borders, from what I heard. 9th has a foothold in one of the German towns and they cleared a way for us behind them."

Emeline nodded placidly. But her emotions were caught in the crossfire between utter excitement and dread. They were that much closer to ending this war, to going home and leaving this world behind. But something about being so close to Germany so quickly left her unsettled. A gnawing twinge beneath her chest, a sudden upset that settled alongside her conscience, told her that something was wrong. Foreboding and indistinct, like a far-off memory tickling the brim of her mind, she wasn't sure what to make of it. For that moment, though, she simply pushed it aside. Despite how she felt, there was little they could do now but tend to the men in their care and prepare for their move.

"We go where we gotta go," she muttered quietly to herself.

"We do what we gotta do."

Emeline smiled distantly and Jane bumped her shoulder with a small grin.

"Are you ladies decent?" a smooth voice said with a lighthearted tenor.

All the nurses rose to their feet and watched as their platoon CO stepped into their tent. Their postures composed and their expressions more poised as scattered greetings filled the air. Major Lewis simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. "At ease, ladies." Shoulders relaxed and backs slouched, but no one stirred from their positions. Lewis stood at the flap of their tent, his light hazel eyes skimming over the faces of each of the nurses. "I'm sure Lieutenant Vinson here explained that we're heading for Belgium soon."

"Yes, sir."

"After we get resupplied from Laon, we'll be heading for the city of Verviers. We'll be following after 9th again now that they're heading into Germany. Considering the status of their operations, higher-ups deemed it fit to have a team from 8th Auxiliary Surgical to join us for a bit."

Jane nodded. "Would you still want to have two nurses posted to the surgical wards, sir?"

"Would you say recent operations proved that a bit impractical, Lieutenant?"

"Actually, I would've suggested having nurses either in triage or post-ops, sir."

"Then it's settled. With the extra help from the 8th, a Sergeant Rowe and a few boys of theirs can handle the surgical wards once we get to Verviers." He paused for a second. The look in those hazel eyes almost appeared calculating. "I know you ladies have been a bit shorthanded since we left St. Lô. Now, I've talked it over with Major McLean from the 8th, and he's agreed with my proposal. An extra pair of hands wouldn't hurt, and the experience would be good for their lieutenant."

Brows furrowed in confusion. "Sir?"

Lewis stepped aside to pull back the flap of the tent. "Lieutenant Rory?"

A relatively tall woman with dark brown hair neatly pinned out of her lean, almost aristocratic, face stepped into their quarters. She stood at attention beside their CO, her shoulders squared and her chin held up steadily. The ODs that hung over her limbs were still starched and stiff, newly-issued and hardly worn. Her helmet and pallid features were still fresh, unblemished with dirt or grime. Dark green eyes scanned the tent slowly, taking in the haggard forms of each nurse.

There was a small part of her that felt unsettled by these women. Tired, almost jaded, faces stared back at her with inquisitive or wary gleams. Worn and aged from such a short amount of time, these faces stuck out to her the most. Not only because they too were women in the middle of this war, but because they were different from the fresh and lively faces of women she last saw during her training and deployment. These women weren't just nurses but veterans in their own right.

"Ladies, this is Lieutenant Elle Rory. A surgical tech with the 8th. She might not be a nurse, but she has all the basic training of a medic, so I believe she'll be good help at your stations. Rory this is Winnie Balfour, Leanne Caswell, Rhonda McCormick, Emeline Frey, and 1st Lieutenant Jane Vinson. She's in charge of these nurses here. Any problems in the wards, you report to any one of these ladies."

Elle nodded her head instantly. "Yes, sir."

"See to it that you girls look after Rory during your shifts. She might even be able to take on some nurse duties if everything pans out alright. The experience is good hands-on training for her."

Scattered replies of 'yes, sir' were said. Lewis noticed the quiet that settled upon the women and cleared his throat. "Alright. Rory, I'll introduce you to the other officers. You girls rest up tonight. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"It was… nice meeting all of you," Elle said before stepping out of their quarters. Lewis sent the nurses a quick nod and stepped out as well.

The stillness upon them was almost smothering. It took a moment for everything to sink in, but the reactions among the women were varied. Some were left with bemused expressions. Others were left with a look of puzzled curiosity.

"Did you see the patch on her jacket?" Winnie asked with an interested gleam. "She's WAC."

"I've never met someone in the WAC before…" Leanne murmured thoughtfully. "But I hear it's common for surgical and dentist techs to be assigned to units out in the field now."

"She may be WAC, but she's still no nurse." Rhonda's weary expression didn't go unnoticed, and by that point tact was the least of her concerns. "Look, I get it. Kill two birds with one stone—we get help around the wards and this Rory gal gets some experience outside the surgery tent. I appreciate the thought, but if Lewis expects her to take on a whole ward on her own, then we're basically training her to do just that. I wouldn't give two shits if it was another nurse, but it's more responsibility on our hands training someone for field nurse experience when they're not even a goddamn _nurse_."

Jane sighed quietly and tossed her clipboard onto her cot beside Emeline's. Wiry fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. Thinking of it all after their long day was giving her a headache. "Fuckin' joy."

The word _responsibility_ triggered a memory in the back of Emeline's mind. Her dark locks were fixed into a messy bun by nimble fingers and a quiet sigh left her lips. Jane rose a brow at her as she headed for the tent flap. "Where are you headed to?"

"Finishing up my shift," was all Emeline said. No one moved or said anything otherwise.

She had little time thinking about their relocation to Belgium, or the new lieutenant under their watch. She barely had time to properly mourn for Robert Langley, the lieutenant from 90th Infantry. She had rounds to make, men to check up on, and those damn linens that needed drying. Emeline Frey had enough responsibility on her own hands for that day.

* * *

_*The Falaise Gap was a battle between the Allies and the Germans in the operation following D-Day. By early-August, Allied forces had surrounded the German Seventh Army on all sides except for a "corridor" amid the lines that the Germans fought to remain open in order to escape. But by late-August, the Allies had closed the gap completely, thus securing a route toward Paris._

_*The Women's Army Corps (WAC) was a completely different organization from the Army Nurse Corps (ANC). While ANC personnel were solely nurses working within medical settings, WAC personnel had a wide variety of jobs ranging from supply clerks, truck drivers, mechanics, radio operators, translators, cooks, reporters, camera technicians, to even medical and surgical technicians._

_*WAC personnel also followed the traditional ranks of their male counterparts (ie. Private, Private First Class, Corporal, Sergeant, etc.) and could be promoted to officer status as well, if qualified. However, ANC personnel were usually given officer status (2nd Lieutenant) upon completion of their training and deployment. This was to help give them a certain degree of protection and authority in an all-male environment out in the field._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you very much to those who've read and shared their thoughts so far :) I've had my reservations on this story, to be honest, but all the characters have seriously and truly grown on me, and I've really been leaning towards this story more than any of my others.**** I try not to make too many A/Ns with this story since my chapters are already lengthy on their own, along with the little footnotes that are included. But there's just a few things I wanted to share before we go on: **

**The next chapter will be up in the next couple of days. We're quickly approaching the part of the story that I really want to get to and add, so I'm actually kinda eager to see readers' thoughts on it. ****I realize that if most readers have read everything so far then they most likely already know this, but at this point of the story, it's just something that I wanted to mention one last time to finally get it out of the way: **Like I've warned before, this plot focuses more on a unit that is not attached to or affiliated with Easy Company, so the boys do not properly reappear until later on. I just see it more as a (historically) fictional story that really just runs parallel with Easy Company's story. **So give it some time, let the story breathe, and (hopefully) we can see how it all comes together as we go along :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Edelweiss**

_Of this I am quite sure, that if we open a quarrel between the past and the present, we shall find that we have lost the future._

**Prime Minister Winston Churchill – June 18, 1940**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The city of Verviers was passed a week back, then Eupen a day after, and finally the town of Roetgen only two days before. None were much different from the towns and cities they had passed throughout France and Belgium. But there was something about the city of Verviers that had resonated with Emeline the most.

They had heard that the Germans overran the small metro during their retreat, taking food and property from the citizens and leaving little to nothing else. Everything they had, from food to gas to water to electricity, had been scarce. But despite this, a sense of resilience resided amongst these people, something that not even the Germans could conquer and withhold.

Bombings and artillery blasts had riddled some parts of the city, but not all. A whole street lined with buildings three-stories tall could've been leveled to nothing but dust and rubble, but the next street over would be untouched, intact. Like a picturesque postcard of a European neighborhood, a town, one would send to their families back home. Cafés and restaurants, apartments atop little shops and boutiques—the skeleton of a city, despite how resolute, was dwelled upon as if impervious to the destruction of the war around it.

During late-September, when First Platoon stepped foot onto those cobblestone streets, they were greeted with a barrage of cheers and smiles and bouquets of wildflowers. Brassards were pinned to their jackets and red crosses were painted on their trucks, a sign that they _weren't_ the soldiers they thought they were, yet the whistles and shouts and cheers still continued.

Men and women kissed their cheeks and shook their hands. Kids hugged them and offered ripened fruits and breads from the little amount they already had. One man, elderly with salt-and-pepper hair, came up to Emeline and grabbed her hands, kissed her knuckles sweetly and rambled broken English words that didn't quite make sense. But the tears in those grey-blue eyes and the smile on his wrinkled face, the smile _everyone_'s face, made exact words unnecessary.

Bittersweet was the only thing Emeline could think to describe it.

She wondered if these people greeted the _real_ soldiers with such warmth and welcome. The boys would've liked that, even during a war like this—_especially _during a war like this. A part of her wanted to believe that they had to have been. Even the 9th, as they made way for Roetgen and pushed forward towards the Hürtgen Forest; she hoped that they ran into people like these. She hoped that seeing these faces was as much of a reminder for the soldiers as it was for the medics and nurses and surgeons of the 42d Field Hospital.

It was no secret that the 9th had taken over the first German town of the war at Roetgen. Neither was it a secret that they were now that much closer to Germany's revered _Westwall_—the Allies' eminent Siegfried Line. First Platoon waited for word of progress at their posts, as they've always done, in a clearing of the thick forests outside of Roetgen. Time would tell when they too would be stepping foot towards the Hürtgenwald after the 9th, though they just didn't know how long of time.

"I'm seriously starting to agree with Winnie on this one," Jane began to say. The supply crate in her hands was offered to Emeline before she lugged the last one for herself out of the truck. "Christ, can you imagine that? Out of here and home by Christmas. A hell of a Christmas present from Hitler, I'll tell you that."

"Yep. Hitler's a real modern day St. Nick," Rhonda said with an off-handed grin.

Emeline only smiled at the notion. As she lifted her chin, letting those sun-kissed breaths tickle her pale cheeks, she closed her eyes and savored the feeling. It reminded her of home.

"That sounds like a nice idea," she murmured thoughtfully. "I miss everyone back home. The beaches, the farms… It'd be nice to be back by then."

"God knows how long we've been away from the states."

Rhonda winked and nudged the dark-haired nurse beside her. "Take one guess why Jan here wants to get back to Montana."

A soft laugh drew past Emeline's lips. They didn't need a guess as to what Rhonda really meant—that was something they all knew, even if Jane continually tried to disagree with it. But in that moment, when silence nestled between the three nurses with an air of contradiction, they were left with potent curiosity.

"What?" Jane muttered. "Why're you girls giving me those looks? Just 'cause I wanna go home to Mike and my family—"

"_What_?"

"I fuckin' knew it!"

Blood pooled in Jane's cheeks, a rare phenomenon on any account, despite amusing circumstances. Seeing it now only made the women beam and grin. The older nurse smacked them both by the arm, disregarding the heat off her face as if it were a trivial blemish. "Like it's a crime to wanna go home to a man."

"_Two years_. Ever since you mentioned him back at Carson, me and Rhon knew. It took you _two years_ to finally admit it!"

Jane sighed into a small smile. "More like ten years, doll."

"Well goddamn, Jan," Rhonda chuckled. "What the hell happened, huh? Last time we talked about all this, you near had a fit calling us crazy."

"Maybe an epiphany, hm? Something had to have happened for you to change your tune now, of all times."

Their pace turned sluggish as they headed down the camp's worn footpaths. Both stared at the older nurse expectantly, curiously. But Jane only scrounged up faint grin. "Y'know, back at Laon, one of the boys they trucked in from the Hirson run was from Montana. Laurel, actually. Not even an hour-drive from Livingston. I almost didn't believe him, to be honest. But when he told me where he was from? Christ… the world felt awfully small that time."

"The world's awfully small to begin with," Emeline commented with a small smile.

Elements of surprise and shock faded quickly. Since they all trained together at Arizona, Rhonda and Emeline knew that Jane Vinson harbored unearthed feelings for her childhood friend, Mike Sewell. They only heard the occasional story of him from Jane, but they could tell he was a good man. 'A sturdy fella since he works on his daddy's ranch more often than not. Not too bad on the eyes either, if I do say so myself,' was how Jane described him. Awfully stubborn as well from what they heard. Though, considering who their friend was, it didn't surprise them in the slightest.

'It takes a stubborn man to love a stubborn woman,' Rhonda once said. Jane huffed at that, called them crazy for it, and walked away in another bout of denial. But they were all well aware of how true it was.

They nurses placed their supply crates on the ground outside the triage station, alongside the few others. Rhonda kept hers in hand, staring at her friends with a more thoughtful expression.

"You're a _stubborn_ little munchkin. But I'm happy for you anyway, Jan."

"Thank you?" her words came more as a question as she laughed.

"We're _both_ happy for you, Jane," Emeline said with a playful smack to Rhonda's arm. "Really, though. We haven't even met the guy but we can tell you two care an awful lot about each other. _That _means something."

"You and Rhon were right though," Jane glanced their way with a faint grin. "Never really wanted to think too much of it at first, I guess. Part of that was 'cause of the war. You can't think much about home without getting a bit depressed—and God knows we didn't need any of that when we were at North Africa. The other part…" She scratched the back of her head. "Well, I suppose it was a bit of fear. He always saw me as some sorta sister figure, so me saying, 'Mike, I know this is gonna sound damn right strange, but I love you' out of the blue is a bit… off-putting."

"Sounds damn right genius, in my opinion."

Emeline chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Doesn't seem like it's all that strange anymore if you're telling us you love him now."

"Love was—" Cheeks flustered in that uncommon glow. "That part was a figure of speech…"

"Here's to hoping we get out of her by Christmas then. Hell, who knows? Maybe Hitler'll be a nice jolly ol' St. Nick and let us go home as a present this time around."

A dry laugh reached their ears as Jane patted the front of her field jacket pockets. "_Hopefully_. Let's just get through this week first. Who knows what the hell's gonna happen."

The sudden tweak in Jane's tone spoke more than she led on. Her smile remained lighthearted, though weary. A particular hardness flickered in those dark brown eyes, gone as quick as it came, subtle as a whispered breath. As if she had just smiled to brush off a joke that wasn't quite that funny. Suspicious glances were shared between the nurses as Jane lit a cigarette she had tucked away somewhere in her pockets.

"Thought you were quitting." Jane's grin almost appeared sheepish. Emeline always seemed to be the voice of reason ever since she mentioned she was gonna try and kick the habit months back.

"Only smoke when I'm stressed," was all she reasoned.

"Stressed, huh?"

"I'll make a bet with you. Help make it interesting while you kick the habit," Emeline began to say as she folded her arms over her chest. The grin toying about her features didn't go unnoticed. "Every time I hear or seen that you've smoked, I get five dollars. Every week you go without it, I owe you ten."

Jane paused for a moment and considered the thought. "Alright, fair enough."

"Starting now. Five dollars."

"Goddammit…"

Rhonda smirked and flicked her dark cerulean eyes towards the open flap of the triage ward. Thoughts brewed in the back of her mind and she found herself saying them freely. "I've been meaning to ask how our dear WAC officer's been doing. She pulling through her shifts alright?"

The older nurse glimpsed passed the tent flap. "Good as any, I suppose. Doesn't ask much questions but she picks up on certain things real quick. Works as hard as any of the other boys too."

Emeline gave her a knowing look. "You still have doubts."

"What I doubt is her mindset," Jane muttered. She took a long drag from her cigarette, a subconscious act of pent up irritation. "She's a good medic. Smart, quick. Eager to do things right one time. I can respect all that. But it's like she just came from the West Point of medical training. Tries too damn hard to do things by the book. Perfect and exact and all that."

"Doesn't sound too bad. That's what they're teaching them during training nowadays."

Smoke billowed from Jane's lips and she shrugged. "I think that's perfect when we're in operation and administering meds. But when we're handling these boys? There's no measurement or procedure for humanity, Angel. How're we suppose to teach someone what to do when a man's begging for God's divine grace and blessing to save him?—or when he's crying out in pain for his mama or lover? At least nurses are prepared for that, but some WAC surgical tech fresh from the States? How the hell do we prepare someone for that?"

"You could tell her everything you just told us now," Rhonda humored with a light grin. "Hell, we all know that—even Winnie and Leanne know all that, and they've only been at this for a couple of months. But Rory doesn't know much of anything beyond basics. Everything you said is already a mindful of wisdom for any medic."

Jane chuckled wryly and took another drag. "I can be a bitch, Rhon, but not that much. That's too much crap to take in at one time, even for a nurse. I sure as hell ain't gonna unload all that on a surgical tech in one day unless they deserve it."

"Elle can learn all that from her own experience out here. Most of the boys in our unit learned a whole lot from a few days out in the field. Imagine would it could do for her."

"Experience?" Jane made a quiet _tsk_ sound and stomped out her cigarette. "That's what I'm afraid of, doll."

Emeline shrugged. "That's why she's here."

"I dunno 'bout that, Emmy…" Rhonda muttered. "A bit too soon, isn't it?"

"I can't say for sure. We've never done the same rounds before. But I've seen her with the boys in post-ops a few times. She seems to do alright. What duties have you been giving her while she's in triage?"

"Whatever needs to be done. Laundry, recounting supplies, checking patient files, refilling meds, cleaning cots and bedpans, making sure the boys are comfortable…"

"Everything except triage itself," Emeline said with a slow nod.

Jane grew quiet as she fiddled with the lighter in her hands, flicking the cover open and close with idle twitches of her fingers. Emeline stuffed her hands into the pockets of her field jacket. The thought that came to mind was fleeting but nevertheless genuine. "I'll look after her then."

Both women eyed her oddly. Silence seeped deep between the nurses, along with the notion that Emeline had just proposed.

"Right…" Rhonda drawled after a while. "You two can settle all this then. I need to get back to post-ops. Thanks for the extra supplies, Jan."

Jane gave her friend a curt nod of acknowledgement before honing her attention to the nurse before her. The seriousness of the moment struck them both as dark orbs reflected back at one another. "You _sure_?"

"We don't know how competent she is or isn't out here until we give her a chance. Folding blankets and laundry and restocking meds and medical chests are all common sense. Actually treating the boys that come our way in triage isn't."

"And you _really_ think she's ready take on triage?"

"On her own? No. But getting a little experience? I don't see why not. As long as you or me or Rhonda are there, I don't see much of a problem."

"We'll see then…" Jane mumbled. "If you think we should give her a chance in triage, then—"

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

Both stepped aside as a pair of litter-bearers walked through the triage tents with a stretcher between them. Another truck had rumbled into the roadway beside the ward, orders and shouts pierced the seasoned air.

"Doc Carver, ma'am, 28th Infantry. Caught kraut fire while on patrol," one medic explained as he approached them. "Two of our guys are in pretty rough shape now. A few others are back at the aid station, but we might be trucking them in soon." Sweat lined his brow and he took a moment to catch his breath. "Seems there's a kraut division holed up near the town a couple miles out from here. Regiment's getting some of our companies to flush them out, so you might be getting busy later on today, ma'am."

"Thanks for the heads up, Doc," Jane murmured as she readjusted the cloth that held back her chestnut curls. The medic nodded and continued on into the tent. There was almost a challenging glimmer in those dark orbs as she glimpsed at her friend. "You think Rory's ready to handle a patient in the next ten seconds?"

Emeline smiled humorlessly. "We're about to find out, aren't we?"

The nurses headed into the triage tent and found Leanne working alongside Elle as they tended to one of the men. Jane knelt beside the cot where the other man had been laid upon and began checking his vitals.

"You hangin' tough there, soldier?" Jane said with a little smile as she checked his bandaged shoulder.

"Tryin' to, ma'am," he muttered through clenched teeth. He hissed in pain when she had him shift to his side to check his back, but he made no other noise of protest. Eventually the medic stepped back from the man that Leanne and Elle had been checking and made way towards the other nurses.

"I gave him one syrette probably ten minutes ago now. Shrapnel damage to the abdominal and shoulder."

"Hurts like a fuckin' bitch, that one," the soldier gritted through another shot of pain.

Doc chuckled. "Language, Connoway. You're in the presence of some pretty lady nurses here."

"Funny, most people complain about being hit in the stomach more than being hit in the shoulder," Emeline mused as she added another dressing atop the blood-soaked bandage across his abdomen.

"Pieces are still in his shoulder, ma'am. Figured it'd do more harm than good trying to get it out at the aid station. Surgery here seemed to be the better option."

"I can't even feel much in my gut, really. Guess it kinda gives a new definition to my iron stomach, eh Doc?" the man said as he mustered up a faint grin. His friend grinned back in response.

"Just hang in there, Tex. We need 28th's best shot back on the lines. Kirschman might kick my ass if anything happened to you now."

Tex grinned and bit back another curse that rose with the stab of pain. "I'd pay to see that happen. A guy almost a foot shorter than you trying to kick your ass? That'd be damn funny."

Doc rolled his eyes, though he took little effort into hiding his smile. "Can you girls give anything to shut him up? Anesthetics, sleeping pills maybe?"

Jane chuckled and wiped her hands on a square of drab cloth. "Might happen sooner than you think."

"The shrapnel didn't knick anything to vital, but you're gonna need surgery to fix that shoulder," Emeline said as she stood up. "Gonna need to patch up that iron stomach of yours too."

"Doesn't sound too bad then," the soldier grimaced as the litter-bearers lifted his stretcher once more.

"Surgery station is further down the camps," Jane made a quick note on his medical tag and had them on their way. "Major Wendell's wards should be free at the moment."

"Jimbo, go with them," Doc said to his other medic. "I'll check in after we get Nort here squared away."

With another nod, the other medic followed after the litter-bearers. Jane eyed their ward carefully, glimpsing at the other men down the aisle. All were resting in their cots without much fuss, and that much she was thankful for.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Frustration laced faintly in that voice. "We _can't_ give him a supply of blood plasma, Leanne. We're running low. We can save it for a man who needs it more than him. He can make do without it."

Jane heard those words drift through her ears and instantly frowned.

"He has two gunshot wounds…"

"I know, but his arm's already in a splint and bandaged up. It's a shallow wound compared to his abdomen, isn't it?"

"But he's…"

"We'll send word for Captain Pyle or Major McLean for surgery. We can't do much else. He's got a 50/50 chance right now, and if we lose him, it'll be a loss of supplies we can't afford to lose too."

Jane's dark brown eyes glimpsed around the ward with vague dismay. The men were resting, unaware of the words being spoken or the situation the nurses now found themselves in. They were under Viggo's care for now and she felt more at ease. But the spur of irritation within her chest soon bubbled over shamelessly. Emeline watched the sight before them with a distinct frown, and from the corner of her eye she could see Jane stiffen in her place.

"Emmy…"

"I got him, Jan."

The older nurse walked towards the younger lieutenant and gripped her shoulder firmly. Leanne looked up at her, puzzled, before shifting her crystal blue gaze to the dark-haired nurse beside her.

"Lieutenant Rory—a word, please," Jane said with quiet severity.

"M… Ma'am? But this man…"

"Now. Lieutenant Frey and Lieutenant Caswell can handle it from here."

Elle watched as Emeline knelt beside her, ready to take over. The medic watched on silently at the foot of the cot, unsure of what was taking place. A shared sentiment between them in that moment, though no one uttered a word of it.

"Yes, ma'am…"

Emeline glanced over her shoulder and watched the two women step out of the ward. Guilt sprouted in the back of her mind, blossoming into a sense of regret and inadequacy. But there was little she could do about it at that moment. She simply took out the spare packs of bandages from her pockets and began working.

"Leanne, give him the plasma. Don't worry about supplies. If he needs it then give it to him."

"Already did." She held up the glass bottle with a small smile. Emeline blinked in surprise. Before long, she let out a soft chuckle.

"Smart girl."

Leanne smiled weakly. "I get what Elle was trying to do. But it didn't… feel right." Crystal blue eyes scanned the soldier, narrowing slightly with concern as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Small hands that gripped the bottle tightened. "If we're supposed to choose between necessities like this… how're we supposed to choose, Emmy?"

"You do what you have to." Emeline said simply. A small reassuring smile tugged at her lips. "We treat these boys with what we have and do everything that we can. Never second-guess yourself when it comes to that."

With a weak nod, Leanne straightened in her place and smiled faintly when she saw the soldier come to. Emeline worked on with quiet diligence as she gently probed the man's abdomen. The quiet _tsk_ that left her lips was louder than she intended as she checked the pulse in his carotid.

"Everything alright, ma'am?" the medic asked quietly as he knelt down beside her.

She met his emerald gaze and nodded. Her voice grew considerably softer. "The bullet dinged his radius, but we managed to get bleeding under control. Abdominal is my main worry, but his vitals are strong enough so far. We'll have our surgeons patch him up as soon as we're done here."

"I'm glad to hear that, ma'am. Peace of mind for me knowing we're leaving Nort and Tex in good hands. But I meant… well, y'know."

"Yeah…" she murmured quietly. "I know…" As she made a quick note to his medical tag, she glanced up at the younger nurse in front of her. Playfulness was long gone as those crystal blue eyes met hers. "Leanne, you got him?"

"Yes. He'll be alright. We can handle him for now," Leanne replied. She glanced at the medic across from her and the man nodded instantly.

"No problem, ma'am. Nort'll be alright with us."

"Good." She stood up from her place and sighed, wiping her hands on a stray square of drab cloth. "Now I gotta make sure Jane doesn't kill this girl…"

"She never handled the boys like this, Emmy," Leanne called out behind her. "It was her first time. She did what she thought was right…"

Emeline's footsteps faltered as she stood at the tent flap. True as those words had been, she felt powerless and inept. Again, guilt rose alongside regret, blurring together as some miserable feeling of contempt. Partially for the situation they had just been dragged though, partially for her own self. All she could muster in that moment was a small reassuring nod before leaving the triage tent behind her.

Voices and noises of First Platoon's camp had slurred into an incoherent buzz. Smoke from their makeshift mess hall and lit cigarettes drifted lithely in the cool mountainous air. EMs from their platoon mingled casually with other medics and litter-bearers from the clearing stations or company aid stations. With a small smile in greeting, she walked past them and headed for their quarters towards the outer rim of the camps. Familiar voices reached her ears as she neared the path behind the wards and she made way towards them.

"I… I don't know what you're trying to say, ma'am."

"I'm saying that this is your first and last warning." Jane gave the younger nurse a stern look, dark eyes narrowed and lips thinned into a straight-laced frown. "I don't know what you've heard or seen in some other field hospital, but in _this_ platoon, in _our_ wards, we do things differently."

Elle straightened in her place, eying the nurse with furrowed brows, almost at a loss for words. "I did _everything_ I was taught to do, ma'am. I checked his vitals, ran the assessments, administered the antibiotics, controlled his bleeding—everything. Our supplies have been low since we got here. Just because I didn't want to give him a pack of blood plasma—"

"Do you have any idea why I think you're wrong, Lieutenant?"

As she recoiled, she found her voice. "N… No, ma'am. Not a clue."

"We act as one of the _last_ stops in the second echelon care," Jane's words were sharp, exact, like some proverbial knife slowly drawn from its sheath. "That means we have a whole lot of cases coming into our wards. Men who's bloodied up good because of artillery blasts, mortar rounds, and gunshot wounds—men _right_ off the frontlines. They're in agonizing pain and they're looking for us to help them. And we do, we try. But the _last _thing they wanna hear is that they're not _worthy_ of some drug or bandage or bottle of plasma—that we're trying dipshit ways to save their lives because it's a waste of our supplies if they die."

"That wasn't what I meant to do, ma'am," Elle frowned at the thought. "I was only trying to think ahead. For other patients and for our supplies. That's what we have to do nowadays, don't we?"

"You're missing my point, Rory." Jane exhaled quietly and stared at Elle with a jaded mien. "What you said back there—you're damn lucky that those wards weren't full. 'Cause everything you said was the exact _opposite_ of what we try to do. We're nurses, we take care of every man that comes through these tents. We don't just heal cuts and bruises around here, we calm these soldiers down. We give them peace of mind. You can go on and follow those rules and protocols you learnt back in training like it's the Holy Bible. As far as I'm concerned, that's fucking perfect. But you think twice about what you're saying around these boys. Especially in my wards."

Elle swallowed hard, practically swallowing her fear along with it. "Ma'am, I don't think I said or did anything wrong. I did what I had to."

"Then you better think long and hard, Rory. You're done for the day."

"W… What? But ma'am—"

"You're _done_ for the day," Jane repeated firmly. "Take a nap, take a walk, grab a bite to eat—I don't care what you do. But you are _not_ stepping back into my station. Not today."

With her shoulders squared and her chin leveled steadily, Elle gave a curt nod her head. Her jaw was clenched slightly, looking as though she still had more she wished to say. But she bit the words back and murmured a quiet 'yes, ma'am' instead. She turned around and headed for the footpaths, passing Emeline with a stoic sort of look upon her face. The dark-haired nurse could only stare at her retreating form as she walked past.

"Stubborn woman," Jane muttered wearily as she ran her hands over her face.

A lighthearted smile curled Emeline's lips. "Fits right in around here then."

"If it weren't a pain in my ass at the moment, I'd agree with you." The playful grin toying across Jane's features faded as dark orbs met mahogany pools. Quietly, she sighed, reflecting back an apologetic mien. "I know you have the night shift, but do you think…"

"I can handle triage with Leanne. Don't worry about it."

Jane sighed in relief. "_Thank_ you. I owe you one."

The dark-haired nurse smiled faintly and nodded. The smell of smoke wafted in the air as she walked away, but she simply shook her head and continued on to their tented quarters down the camp. As she stepped into their tent, she was greeted with the sight of Elle Rory sitting at the edge of her cot, nitpicking at the seams of her ODs with frustrated little ticks of her fingers. At the sound of the flap tent rustling open, forest green eyes settled upon the weary features of the dark-haired nurse. Emeline could make out the scowl Elle was trying to hide, but she went on towards her own cot silently.

"Are you here to chastise me too, ma'am?"

Emeline glanced her way, considering the notion thoughtfully. "Do you _want_ me to?"

"Half-way expecting it."

"Then I guess you'll be half-disappointed to hear that I'm not."

She grabbed her satchel from the foot of her cot and rechecked her supplies. Bandages, iodine swabs, her syringe kit, and all. Once they were all accounted for, she stood up and headed for the tent flap. A voice, mid-western and clear with natural robust, steadily rose behind her.

"Do you treat all new recruits like this, ma'am? Or am I like that kid in the back of the class that gets picked on?"

Slowly, Emeline's pace eased to a halt. After looking over the younger lieutenant with a searching glint, she came to realize that she was young. Much too young—twenty, if she were to make a guess. Somehow, that made her all the more considerate.

Polite greetings were exchanged in the mornings or on their way to their shifts, but Emeline didn't know much of Elle Rory. She noticed she had taken to talking with Winnie and Leanne more than most, though that came as little surprise. Emeline had passing speculations of the young woman, simple and trivial, almost superficial, as most people held vague generalizations of others. Eager, and a hard-worker, as Jane mentioned earlier. Tactful, precise, always trying to get things right without fail. There was nothing wrong with that, she knew. But it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth around their stations.

The muscles in Emeline's cheeks twitched. "Do you still think your actions earlier were right, Elle?"

"I don't see what I did wrong, if that's what you mean."

"Then you're not ready for those wards."

"_Why_? Because I did what I was told? Because I did what I was _supposed_ to do? If you girls are reprimanding me for that then I'm not sorry for saying that it's all bullshit. I don't care how you run your wards, but if everything I say or do is gonna be scrutinized then I say good riddance. I can go back to my unit and help out there where I'm needed."

Emeline listened on quietly, letting her vent out those unsaid words and frustrations. After all that happened that day, she needed to more than anything else in that moment. Taking the second to gather her thoughts, the older nurse conceded to the notion of honesty.

"Our first head nurse was a lot like you. 1st Lieutenant Beverly Dawson. New to the army and war just as any of us were. Headstrong, confident, strict. But a good nurse."

Elle stared back at her, confused at the point she was trying to make. Taking the silence as cue, Emeline eased onto the cot in front of her and continued on.

"When we were first deployed to North Africa, we were outfitted with the 10th Field Hospital following 39th Infantry. The first three months in our campaign, our wards were full to the brim. Supplies were running low and we had men being trucked in from the aid stations up front. Just like now. One week got so bad we even had to boil down bandages just so we could reuse them again. Hardly any morphine and antibiotics, hardly any meds, provisions in our blood bank were almost nonexistent. But we kept giving those boys the antibiotics, the morphine, the bandages. If they needed it, we gave it to them. We treated them as if nothing was wrong. I'm not saying that was right, but that's what we did.

"Nurse Dawson… Now, she was a stickler for making sure we followed medical protocol. Kinda like you. When we were running low on supplies, she warned us to save what we could for the boys that really needed it. And when we didn't, when we just kept treating them with everything we had, she got frustrated. Living with worries and fear does that to anyone, even her. One day she yelled at one of the nurses in triage, for giving a man blood plasma when she told her not to. Yelled at her for practically two minutes straight, shouting that we were already low on supplies, and that we didn't need to _waste_ it on the boys that seemed to make do without it. Not even minutes after that, you know what happened?"

Silence settled between them. Dark green eyes drifted aloft to meet mahogany orbs, curious, almost hesitant. Emeline's expression remained thoughtful as she recalled the memory, placid and pleasant despite her stark tone of voice.

"There were over twenty men in that ward. And one by one, they refused what we gave them. Bandages, antibiotics, meds. They didn't want any of it. Just said that they could tough it out, and to give it to one of the soldiers that _really_ needed it. Even though they were the ones with the gunshot wounds from an MG, or the ones that got pegged in the back with shrapnel from a mortar—all them thought they weren't _worthy_ of the supplies that we had. They thought there was someone else worse off that needed it more than they did."

"That's… admirable of them."

Slowly, the older nurse nodded in agreement. "It was. But it was also stupid."

Elle furrowed her brows. "You think their sacrifices were stupid?"

"Never," Emeline replied firmly, her dark eyes gleaming. "I respect what those boys did. And I know for a fact that all of them would do it again if they had to. But what was stupid was the fact that they were placed in that situation in the first place."

"Why? You were low on supplies. You didn't _force_ them to refuse meds. They chose to turn down those treatments on their own."

"Did they?" she asked with a humorless smile. "They _chose_ to, after hearing our head nurse shout to the world that we had next to nothing in our wards? They _chose_ to sacrifice their own treatments for the benefit of others? All of that, from their own free will? If you were to say the same thing Nurse Dawson did in any of our wards now, I'm sure these boys would _choose_ the same thing the 39th did."

When the silence settled between them again, Emeline shook her head. She hated that silence. In that moment it was suffocating.

"We're… a _stability_ for these men. That's what we do here. That's what Jane meant. We give them peace of mind. They're already fighting battles on the frontlines, they don't need to fight for their lives among others in these wards too. Bandages, morphine, meds—those are our worries, not theirs. They did their job, and if they come through our tents then we need to do ours."

"Our worries…" Things seemed clearer, if only faintly. "That's… why Lieutenant Vinson told me to be careful of what I say around the wards? Around the soldiers there?"

"You're starting to get it now," Emeline murmured. She stood up from the cot and peered down at the WAC officer with a reassuring gleam in those dark eyes. "I get what you were saying earlier, Elle. And I don't blame you for it, not one bit. You weren't wrong for doing what you did. But that doesn't mean you were right either."

"Yes, ma'am…"

"Emeline. Call me Emeline. We're the same rank, Elle. You don't have to call me ma'am. And… you're gonna be under our wing for a bit. Might as well get better acquainted, hm?"

For the first time since she met her, Emeline saw Elle smile. A simple tug of her lips showed pearly white teeth and a slight dimple in her left cheek. One glance and Emeline felt a bit more reassured. With a small nod towards the girl, the dark-haired nurse turned and headed for the tent flap. A thought crossed her mind and she threw a small smile Elle's way.

"And that nurse? The one that that got chewed out by our first head nurse? That was Jane."

— ~ —

Emeline stretched her arms above her head, holding back a tired yawn. The small pile of manila folders rested atop her lap, half-finished and open to dark leery eyes that saw the handwriting as nothing but scribbles. After a taking a few seconds of closing her eyes, leaning her head against the tree trunk behind her and savoring the moment of simple nothingness, she sat up and leant forward, continuing where she left off with renewed vigor.

"It's amazing. You can officially run off of five seconds of sleep…"

A tired laugh left her lips and she gave a light smack to her friend's arm. "Shut up, Jan."

Jumbled voices of First Platoon drifted in and out of their ears. Emeline worked on her patients' files quietly. Beside her, Jane and Rhonda went on eating their dinners. None paid much attention to anything outside the little campfire they made outside their tented wards. In reality, their campfire was little beyond a couple of overturned supply crates surrounding a gas lamp. They built an actual fire once, on the first night when they got settled, but MPs that drove through the field hospital didn't appreciate the sentiment as much, and neither did their CO.

"Still can't believe you actually kicked her out of the station…"

"You would've done the same if you were there, Rhon."

"Probably would. But still… I leave you girls alone for not even ten minutes and Jane condemns Rory from the wards. Top of that, we get half a dozen ambulances trucked in from that town a couple miles out from here. I always miss the interesting crap that happens at triage nowadays."

"I doubt that was something you'd wanna see yourself, Rhon," Emeline pointed out with a small laugh.

"I was there, and I didn't even wanna be a part of it," Jane muttered after a bite of her staled biscuit. "The whole thing was just fuckin' ridiculous. Her saying all that and acting like it was word of God—I just wanted her out. Christ, it was like North Africa with Dawson all over again."

"That bad, huh?"

Emeline glimpsed away from her files, staring at the head nurse with a flicker of insight. "Elle isn't Beverly Dawson, Jan."

The sigh that left her lips came naturally. "I know."

"_You_ aren't Nurse Dawson either," she continued on to say.

Slowly, Rhonda nodded in agreement and bit into a spoonful of some mystery meat stew, quiet as if that were the only explanation needed. Jane pursed her lips, considering the notion carefully. As the sentiment faded, silent with contemplations dwelling within that moment, she glanced at her friends with a resigned sigh. "I have to fill out weekly reports by tomorrow, y'know."

Rhonda glanced up at her, chewing her food warily. "What're you gonna say?"

"Not a clue in the world."

"Hey… Jane?"

The sound of that voice, soft and humble as it always was, brushed against their eardrums, and the nurses turned their gazes aloft. Beside her was a relatively tall woman, with familiar dark brown hair neatly pinned out of forest green eyes that skimmed to and fro. She stood rigidly, nervously, between the two younger nurses of First Platoon. Jane sat upright, shifting her dark brown eyes between the three women with some degree of circumspection.

"Something wrong, girls?"

"No, but… Elle here has something she's been meaning to say…" Leanne nudged the girl beside her, jolting her out of silent reluctance and apprehension.

Elle exhaled. "I… wanted to apologize, ma'am. For my behavior at triage. I honestly did what I thought was best. But after talking with the other nurses…" She threw a quick glance towards Emeline and straightened in her place. "I… can see how I was a bit out of line, ma'am—and I'm really sorry for that."

Jane nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. She didn't expect to hear Elle Rory to apologize, much less so soon. Her respect for the surgical tech took a blow after the day's previous events, but from that moment, she held the WAC officer with better esteem. In a camp full of hardy men and women who had developed their own sense of tenacious audacity, being able to admit own faults was a difficult feat.

"Thanks, Elle. I appreciate it. And… I'm sorry too if I went overboard. I probably said a bit too much for…"

"You don't need to apologize, ma'am. I understand. If it's possible… I'd really like to continue with my shifts at triage in the morning. I can even get started tonight, if you need me to."

"Well… You can, and you will. I've already had you in mind to continue on with triage tomorrow morning," Jane eased into her seat, invoking a quick look to her friend beside her. "As for tonight, you should address Lieutenant Frey about that. She took on your shift earlier today."

Elle stiffened and turned her gaze to the dark-haired nurse. "Ma'am."

Unbothered by the formality, Emeline nodded her head slowly. "We… had supply trucks in earlier today. Restock the medical chests in central supply, pharmacy, and the surgical wards. I want full lists of what we have and what we're still short of."

With a curt nod, the surgical tech turned and headed down the paths towards their central supply hub. Leanne nodded reassuringly as she walked past and sent the older nurses a knowing smile. But she said nothing else on the matter, simply bade them good night and disappeared into their quarters. Winnie stood in her place for a moment, fiddling with the sleeves of her field jacket, almost looking as though she were debating over her words. The hardened look in those emerald orbs didn't go unnoticed; neither did the rigid air that enveloped around them like an uncomfortable itchy blanket.

"Night girls," was all she said, unbothered by the lackluster tone in her voice or the shared looks the nurses had between them.

"Well, she's not happy with me," Jane muttered with a dry smile. "She mentioned to me earlier she thought it was a step too far kicking Elle out of the wards."

Rhonda huffed in acknowledgement and stood up with their empty mess kit in hand. "She'll come around to see you made a good call. Just let it blow over. Come next week, everyone'll forget what happened anyways."

"We'll see about that." Jane sighed as she patted her front pockets for a smoke. With a flick of her wrist, she lit her cigarette with her lighter and took a long drag. A frustrated grunt left her lips as a new thought trickled through her mind. "Still don't know what I'm gonna write in that report though. Arguments like this ain't all that easy to brush off in reports like these ones."

"Argument?" Emeline showed a puzzled expression, innocuous, almost genuine, as she flipped the manila folder in her hand to a close. "All I saw was a nurse giving an informative lecture to a tech-in-training."

Jane blinked. "You're…"

"I've got my night shift to get to." She stood up from her seat against the tree trunk and brushed the dirt off her bottom. "Oh, and that's fifteen dollars now." A small smile curled her lips as she caught sight of furrowed brows. "Don't think I missed you smoking after you gave Elle her lecture. Night, Jan."

Jane glanced at the Lucky Strike resting between her fingers, torn between rolling her eyes and smirking. "Goddammit…"

* * *

_*Roetgen is a German town that is less than a mile of the German-Belgium border. It was the first German town to fall into American hands, captured on September 12, 1944. From that point, American forces made one of the first attempts to spearhead into German soil._


	8. Chapter 7

**Edelweiss**

_For my own part, looking out upon the future, I do not view the process with any misgivings. I could not stop it if I wished; no one can stop it. Like the Mississippi, it just keeps rolling along. Let it roll. Let it roll on full flood, inexorable, irresistible, benignant, to broader lands and better days._

**Prime Minister Winston Churchill – August 20, 1940**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

"Where the hell are we?"

That question hung in the air, dense and smothering like the mountainous air that filled their lungs. Voices and quiet murmurs, clatters from supplies in their medical chests, grumbles from their battered trucks, all wove together as a consistent hum. But that silence, that calm, still loomed eerily over their heads.

"The Hürtgenwald."

Someone had uttered that reply, a voice lost within the layer of quiet within the forest. But somehow, after seeing it with their own eyes, the answer almost seemed to speak for itself.

_The Hürtgenwald_.

Emeline repeated the name to herself, over and over, as she took in their new outpost. Again, grey clouds swindled those warm streaks of sunlight and warmth, but the tree-tops overhead, branching and thick with coniferous leaves, obscured whatever light was left. Icy winds touched their cheeks, nipping at their exposed skin. Rotting leaves and pine needles padded underneath their boots. Pine trees towered over them with disconcerting splendor, stark and rigid like slumbering soldiers waiting for duty. The Hürtgen Forest was unlike anything they had ever stepped foot into.

"Jesus Christ…" an unrecognizable gravelly voice arose behind them. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me…"

A GI clad in weathered ODs and a dented helmet stalked down their convoy line with an air of demand. From the layered chevrons on his sleeve he was a first sergeant; taller stature than most men, with tousled brown hair and traces of an unshaved beard. Jane rose a brow and called after the man as he passed.

"Something we can help you with, First Sergeant?"

Dark olive eyes flickered over the nurse, scrutinizing and somewhat disgruntled. "Where's your CO, ma'am?"

"A bit busy somewhere down this convoy," Jane replied, unappreciative of his tone. "But in the meantime, maybe we can help you instead? Or…" she watched as he continued down the trail without so much of a second glance. "…not."

"Polite man, isn't he?" Rhonda humored with a lighthearted grin.

Jane rolled her eyes. "Can't wait to work with that one…"

"Major?"

"First Sergeant," Major Lewis's baritone voice reached their ears. A conspicuous frown tugged at his lips and his brows wrinkled faintly as he approached. The conversation between him and the other officers, Major Wendell and Captain Pyle, trailed off into curious glances. "Is there a problem here, Sarge?"

"My problem is that we have an aid station, a collecting station, a clearing station, _and_ a field hospital all within a five mile strip of this damn forest," the man demurred as he motioned down the fog-ridden wagon trail. "I don't know how you usually operate on the frontlines like these, sir, but we're already pushing limits with where our aid stations are now. What the hell are we supposed to do when your boys and girls get pegged by the krauts?"

"You let us worry about that then," Major Lewis commented with considerable calm. "We have five functioning surgical wards in this platoon, and we're staying near the clearing stations that need us. We aren't going anywhere more than a hundred yards from that post right there."

"With all due respect, sir, you need to be over ten _miles_ away from these stations. If krauts don't see these medical crosses, staying cooped up like this will be perfect pickings for enemy fire. It'll be a goddamn turkey shoot if all stations stay here."

"I'm not sure if you noticed, First Sergeant, but the last stable outpost we left was already ten miles back."

"Then that's where you need to be, sir."

Lewis took a long look at the EMs and officers around them, eyeing their locale with a hardened gleam. His posture became more composed, his expression more subdued. Yet he stared at the taller man with an imperceptible glare in those hazel eyes. "Your medical battalion can move us willy-nilly all over Germany for all I care. But you pull us back to our outpost at Roetgen and your boys here have ten miles of god-awful wagon trails they have to go through to even reach to our hospital. You think even half of those men are gonna be stable enough to be evacuated like that? Much less survive the damn ride itself? You got another thing coming, son."

The first sergeant recoiled. After a moment, he took a calculating glimpse around them. "Merging stations like this is against army protocol, sir."

"We aren't exactly in the best position to worry about army protocol, Sarge," Lewis muttered as he flicked up the collar of his jacket, snuffing out the cold winds that encased them.

"You realize that you're gonna be acting as another aid station around here then?" The man stared at Lewis, meeting that aged hazel gaze with unflinching honesty. "We've got our fellas pushing towards Schmidt not even four miles out from our aid stations up front here. If it's gonna be anything like it has for the last three weeks, our station is gonna overflow, and you and these clearing platoons are next in line to take over."

"We've done it before with even less. We can do it again."

With a resigned sigh, the first sergeant straightened in his place and pursed his lips. "Alright then. You can't say we didn't warn you, sir. But we'll appreciate the help anyway. You can get situated here, but try and space out if you can. Engineers had to blow some of these tree-lines just to make room for collecting and clearing companies. Don't know if this'll be enough to fit a field hospital."

"Don't you worry about us, Sarge. We'll make do." Lewis shook his hand and gave a curt nod of his head. "We'll do what we can around here."

Emeline took another look across their new outpost. A clearing was what their CO had called it hours back, though it was a description used loosely. With a ten-foot wide trail running right through the middle, their clearing was barely the size of a football field, over half of what they usually dealt with. Down the path, not even fifty yards away past rows of trees and thickets, they heard that the clearing stations were beginning to settle in their own outposts. Further down, nearly two miles out, was the collecting station and finally the aid station two miles further, on the outer rim of the forest.

The concerns that the first sergeant wished to get across didn't fall on deaf ears. Having to set up camps within such conditions was hasty, practically improvised. Not to mention breaching basic ground rules that all field hospitals abided by. They were in enemy territory, and by no means were they supposed to be within such close proximity to the actual frontlines themselves. But within the nearly impenetrable foliage of the Hürtgenwald, where roads were just as treacherous as the terrain soldiers fought in, and patches of clearings like theirs were far and wide between to find, they all realized that this was the best they had to do. Men who passed through the aid stations wouldn't survive long otherwise.

Fog had nestled between the crevices of tree trunks and branches of the thick forest, slow and advancing like immense tides of billowing white cold. Emeline watched with an unsettling spur as men disappeared into that unknown threshold, their backs turned toward her and their footsteps faded into light echoes. Men would reappear seconds later from that same path, reassuring her and the sudden qualm in the pit of her stomach. But they stood in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by soaring pine trees and a deafening calm, vast grey plains over their heads and sodden black dirt underneath their feet. And she had never felt so exposed in her life.

"42d, listen up!"

Emeline came to her senses and tightened her grip on the strap of her satchel, turning around to face their CO. Again, his voice resonated within the crisp autumn air.

"I know our locale isn't ideal, but we're making do. I want surgical wards, triage, and post-ops on the east side of this trail. Headquarters, pharmacy, and the supply hub's on the west. Evac tent, extra holding wards, and the mess hall tents are on the outer rim to the south, trucks and ambulances are gonna be parked off the path towards the north. Any other room available can be used for our quarters, but no guarantees. Might as well cozy up to these trees, folks—looks like they're gonna be our new bedtime buddies while we're out here."

Various voices murmured their thoughts on the matter but no one voiced protest. Lewis turned to the nurses beside him and his voice lightened to its natural baritone lilt. "Lieutenant Vinson, I need nurses on triage and post-ops at all times. Rowe and his boys have been handling the surgical wards well enough. Myers, Roark and a few of the others can probably handle the extra holding tents on their own as well."

"Got it, sir."

"And I want Frey and McCormick on first shift," Lewis began to say. He stared at the two nurses an expectant spur. "9th is pushing towards Schmidt now, and if they're hitting hard resistance like they have lately, I want you two taking the first rounds. Caswell and Balfour will take the next shifts afterwards."

"Yes, sir," they replied instantly.

With a quick glimpse of acknowledgement towards the nurses, Major Lewis walked away with a supply crate in his hands, continuing with the quiet conversation between him, Major Wendell, and Captain Pyle. Jane took out a notebook from her satchel, patted for her pen in her front pockets, and began writing.

"Rhonda, Leanne, you two have post-ops. Angel, Winnie, you have triage," she made the notes in her notebook and sighed. "With any luck, we don't have to do the 18-hour stretches, but we'll see how the boys handle that push towards this Schmidt town."

"What're you gonna be doing then, Jane?" Winnie asked with a quirked brow, staring at her with a critical spark in those emerald orbs.

The question itself only made Jane mimic the look with a degree of condescension. "What I always do, Winnie. Everything else."

Emeline shared a look with Rhonda and furrowed her brows. A mental note was made at the brim of her mind and tucked away within the crevices. She was going to have a talk with those two, whether they liked it or not. But despite how much she wished she could in that moment, it had to wait for a better point in time.

"Elle, Winnie, c'mon. We need to set up triage."

"M… Me?" the WAC officer rose her brows. "But Jane didn't pen me down for triage."

The dark-haired nurse smiled faintly. "No, but you _are_ under our wing for training. You'll be under my watch for this shift, so let's go. You're on triage duty for now."

"Yes, ma'am." She saw the look Emeline gave her and smiled sheepishly. "_Emeline_."

Another smile curled her lips. "Let's go, Lieutenant. You too, Win."

Winnie huffed softly and gathered her rucksack. As she lugged a medical chest from the back of the truck, almost all measures were taken to avoid as much contact as she could with Jane. None of the nurses could say or do much else without stirring that proverbial pot, and the temptation of doing so was a shared sentiment between all of them in that moment. Leanne called out Winnie's name softly, dejected by the attitudes she saw; Rhonda gave Jane's arm a light tug, smiling that lighthearted smile of hers. But their attempts were brushed off easily as the two nurses turned on their heels and took steps in opposite directions, both caught up in their own thoughts and duties. Their friends stood in their places, almost dumbfounded and baffled beyond words.

"I'm about ready to slap those two," Rhonda mumbled as she glanced between her friends' retreating figures.

"Why are they acting like this?" Leanne asked quietly, disheartened. "They were perfectly fine a week ago. Making bets and jokes and everything."

"Ever since what happened at the triage station back in Roetgen, they've been each other's pet peeves." Rhonda rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. "Aw, don't put on that face, Elle. I'm not saying you're to blame or anything. But it's not much help that what happened back there was a like a trigger for them."

Elle glanced away from the nurses, letting her helmet fall into forest green eyes in hopes of hiding her guilt. The mere sight of that only made Emeline frown. "No one's to blame for anything. We just have two stubborn as hell women _being_ stubborn as hell. Nothing else to it but that." She gave Elle a light nudge forward and inclined her head. "C'mon. We got stations we need to set up. We'll talk about all this later."

Without much word otherwise, the other women nodded and moved about sluggishly. Emeline watched her friends for a moment, taking in their sullen expressions and demeanor with pensive mahogany eyes. The stillness lingered over them, making all their movements seem rigid and forced. By that time she knew it wasn't the work of the Hürtgen's dismal atmosphere, though in reality it helped matters in little ways. All she could do was sigh tiredly and continue down towards the clearing with her supply crate in hand.

— ~ —

Nurses and EMs of First Platoon were never on those lines fighting the Germans. They never felt the kick of an M1 rifle butt against their shoulder, or the smell of cordite from a recently fired mortar, or the whiz of a bullet that missed by centimeters, millimeters, from their faces. But they felt the ground tremble beneath their boots with every artillery blast those men endured, they smelled the same lingering odor of gunpowder and molten metal outside their wards, they heard the same shouts and cries in their tents as if they were on the forest floors themselves. Treating soldiers of 9th Infantry—men from the 39th Regiment, the 47th, the 60th—and hearing the battles from their stations miles away, was always the closest thing they had ever gotten to war.

Battles in the Hürtgen Forest were ruthless and costly. German divisions had nearly perfected the art of inflicting mass damage on the boys of 9th Infantry. Artillery shells and mortar blasts and enemy mines and snipers ravished the frontlines, as did the hail of deadly shrapnel from shattered treetops and downed fir trees. German defenses proved to be terribly effective, and companies suffered devastating losses all across the Hürtgenwald. Men that were admitted to First Platoon's wards, the injuries and wounds they all sought to, accounted to these facts with a brutal reality.

From early- to mid-October, the 9th tried to push towards the crossroad town of Schmidt. Their efforts, however primed and admirable it was, were met with fierce German resistance and even fiercer German counterattacks. The 39th and 60th played a bitter battle of give-and-take, gaining only a few thousand yards into the Hürtgen's impermeable inlay at the cost of thousands of casualties of war. By the 16th of October, commanders of the First Army called for the 28th Infantry Division to relieve the battered elements of the 9th. In the eyes of the men, it was an order that couldn't come soon enough.

The Hürtgenwald was a _miserable _place.

"Jesus Christ… where the hell is this supply convoy?" Jane muttered quietly as she walked down the aisle of cots. "They told us no later than 1500. It's already half past 4."

Emeline placed fresh drab blankets at the foot of cots without them, smiling faintly at the soldiers who murmured their thanks. She caught sight of her friend and trailed after her, glimpsing around their ward with attentive mahogany eyes. "Roads out here are almost nonexistent, Jan," she reasoned softly. "Give it another half-hour, they'll get here. We're lucky to be getting resupplied at all."

"Yeah… Thank God for these boys from the 28th, huh?" Jane sighed. She glanced away from the clipboard in her hands and caught her friend's gaze. "How're things here holding up? The boys they trucked in five minutes ago?"

"They'll do alright. Two of them are getting prepped for surgery, and the other three are resting here for now. Artillery damage did a number on all of them though."

"And supplies?"

"We'll make do," Emeline murmured as she got fresh dressings. "Winnie just got off her shift, but she says everything went smoothly enough. Bandage count is getting low, and so is the blood bank. But we can hang on for another week, two at most if everything is calm on the lines."

"Blood bank part I know about. Pyle's been on my ass about it for the past week. And Lewis has been breathing down my neck about having you girls work 18-hour shifts for the past week and a half," Jane jotted something down on the clipboard and grinned faintly. "Persistent men we have in our platoon, don't we?"

Emeline felt her cheeks twitch in disapproval. "Jan, we can pull 18-hours if you need us to. Just give word."

"No," Jane said firmly. Her dark brown eyes glistened with seriousness. "All of you are already working over 12-hour shifts. And even then, you and Rhonda take up a few hours after that to help out the extra holding wards or supply hub. Winnie and Leanne are picking up on that habit too, and almost all of you are working 18 hours as it is. I give full 18-hour shifts in these wards and you girls'll work 24-hours straight."

"We aren't crazy enough to that do every day," Emeline commented, smiling lightly to herself as she readied a dose of antibiotics with her syringe kit.

"_You_ have been doing that on more than one occasion since I've met you." She nudged Emeline's shoulder gently when she walked past, earning her a faint grin in response.

Deep brown eyes, strained and weary, watched as the dark-haired nurse made way towards one of the soldiers on the first cots. Despite the haggard look upon her face, her usual kind smile came naturally as she greeted the soldier, checked on him and his vitals, administered antibiotics like she first intended. The GI gave the nurse with a sort of lopsided smile, which she returned wholeheartedly, and the small exchange of quiet words and reassurances continued on.

The faint curl of Jane's lips faded as her gaze wandered around the tented triage station. As the weeks passed, cots and litters in their camps had continually reached the brim. With the 9th's aid stations pulling back towards the rear, they were overlooking the influx of wounded until 28th's battalions had their own established. With a quick glimpse at her wristwatch, she muttered a curse and headed down the aisle to check on the post-ops station.

_It's gonna be a long week…_

"Ma'am?"

Jane turned her head, catching sight of cool blue-grey eyes staring down at her with a vague sense of irritation. She rose her brows and took a quick glimpse over the tall GI. The single gold pin on his collar was the only thing that resonated with her in that moment.

"Do you need anything, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am, my buddy's been here for the past ten minutes and no one's checked him out once," his tone almost seemed accusing. "The others have been hardly looked at either."

The nurse lifted her chin slightly and stared back at him with a stern expression. "Lieutenant, I can rest assure you that your men are being treated as they should be in this ward. You're in a full triage station—there's other men my nurse needs to tend to as well."

"If a soldier has to wait this long just for a medic or nurse to see to them, then they have better chances toughening it out on the lines," came his bitter remark as he moved to walk past her.

"If you wanna go back out there, then you can if it damn well pleases you that much," Jane said with relative calm. "But we have a full field hospital under our belts and we're working as best we can."

"Believe me, ma'am," he began to say, narrowing his eyes slightly at nothing in particular, "I would be out there if I could."

Polite pleasantries were getting her nowhere and patience was running thin. Her expression gave way to the annoyance she felt, as well as to the words that were nearly at the tip of her tongue. Emeline noticed this as soon as she stood up from her crouched position beside a cot.

"Look, Lieutenant. I am about _one _second away from—"

"Jane," the dark-haired nurse interjected before Jane could utter another word. Her brows furrowed faintly, but she still gave a reassurance nod to her friend. "I got it."

A curt breath left Jane's lips. Her dark eyes flicked between her friend and the GI that watched them with curious intent, and she felt that sudden spur of spite extinguish. She gave her friend a knowing look and continued down the aisle. "I'll leave it to you, then," was all she said.

Emeline stared after the older nurse as she left, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. As she turned to the GI beside her, she glanced over him quickly. The pin on his collar reaffirmed bits and pieces that she heard earlier. From appearances alone he couldn't be more than a few years older than her. He was a tall man, rather comely by most accounts, lean in build with structured cheeks and brows. Light brown hair, short but tousled, laid atop his head and steel-blue eyes stared at her with a sudden flicker of notice. Seeing that only made her straighten in her place.

"This buddy of yours, Lieutenant?"

"He's, uh…" He motioned to the cot beside him. "He's over here."

Emeline crouched down beside the cot and recognized the man sitting up from the faces she checked on earlier. She smiled faintly in greeting. "Sergeant Roger Hawes?"

Dark brown eyes blinked back at her. Like his friend, he had a solid build and chiseled features, with dark blonde hair ruffled and swept off his forehead. They both seemed to be about the same age, young and keen but nevertheless weathered and battle-hardened.

"Y… Yes, ma'am," came his New England cadence.

"He's been complaining about the pain for the past five minutes. Pain in my ass, really," the Lieutenant behind her muttered.

Ignoring him, Emeline checked Hawes's vitals. "Pain, is it?"

"Well, it ain't too much, ma'am," he began to say rather sheepishly. "Arm's killing me, but broken bones tend to do that."

Everything appeared normal by her quick calculations and she made mental notes of it in her mind. The splint in his left arm hadn't moved or changed. Breathing was normal, and he hadn't grown warmer since she last took his temperature. Pulse and blood pressure were far from perfect, but she leveled it to the bandage that was wrapped across his side. Another mental note was made to change it later as she stood up.

"Roger Hawes's doing fine. His arm's stable in that sling and the pain won't be too bad so long as he doesn't move much." She turned her head and found that steel-blue gaze on her again. Her cheeks twitched as she motioned to the two other men on the cots across from them. "Michael Lasley was just given a dose of antibiotics for his shrapnel damage, and Joe Weimer just had the bandages around his leg changed. And that dislocated shoulder you're trying so hard to hide will heal up fine if you _rest_ like our medics told you ten minutes ago."

The Lieutenant rose his brows and opened his mouth slightly, trying to make sense of the words he wished to say. "Err… Thank you—"

"Anything else you want me to check for you and your boys, Lieutenant?"

"Ah… No, ma'am."

"Good. 'Cause I _know_ how these men are doing in these wards when they're under my watch." Mahogany eyes almost seemed as steeled as the dumbfounded gaze that met hers. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't accuse me or anyone else in my unit otherwise."

He blinked.

"Angel," Rhonda called out from further down the aisle. Cerulean eyes flickered with curiosity, watching as her friend took a few steps away from the GI she stood so closely to. Nevertheless, she smirked lightly and motioned to wards behind her. "The boys from the 60th are almost ready for surgery."

"Thanks. Elle, can you handle triage for a sec?"

"I got it," nodded the WAC officer from down a row.

Emeline flicked her gaze to the man in front of her, raising her brows expectantly. "Now, if you're satisfied with the fact that you boys in the 28th are doing fine, then I have two soldiers barely surviving a tree-blast from hell that I need to tend to. Excuse me, Lieutenant."

With a faux-gracious nod of her head, Emeline turned and headed down the aisle without so much as a glance back. Rhonda's gaze flicked between the stunned GI and Emeline repeatedly, grinning to herself as she turned to fall into step beside her friend.

"What was that all about?"

"Just a CO being difficult," she muttered as she rubbed her forehead wearily.

Rhonda took a glance over her shoulder. "He's staring at you, y'know."

Emeline glimpsed at her friend, sighting the small smile toying about her features. She turned her head away from her, ignoring the implications and the grins and the subtle warmth in her cheeks.

"Let him," was all she mumbled as she made way down the aisle.

— ~ —

Hours rolled on like the billows of somber clouds glowering above their heads. By the early evening the supply convoys that trucked into the hospital's camps were treated nothing short of some heavenly godsend. Worries of bandages or blood plasma or antibiotics were quelled for the time being, and no one could gripe much after a much needed relief in supplies. Hopes were high that they would be pulled off the front along with the 9th. But as news from their Medical Group proved otherwise, they took solace in the fact that they got the next best thing.

Mud sopped beneath Emeline's feet as she hurried for the tented station before her. Rain pelted the green canvas overhead in its unending cadence, and she exhaled quietly at the reprieve from cold wind and showers. With the flick of her wrist, the hood slipped past her dampened locks and she shrugged out of the raincoat that was two sizes too big for her. It was Thompson's, if she remembered correctly; though no one really took mind or notice when she took it. All of them had been sharing raincoats and field jackets since they were deployed to Normandy.

"Hello, Myers."

"Hey Emmy," greeted the scruffy red-headed corporal. Copper stubble lined his square jawline and clear blue eyes skimmed past the manila file in his hands. Amusement flickered dimly across his features as he caught sight of the open tent flap behind her. "Lovely morning we're having, eh?"

"Charms of the German countryside," Emeline said with a quiet laugh. "Coffee's at the mess hall if you wanted some. Couldn't bring a cup with me this time, I'm afraid."

"Aw, what? Talk about some lousy service from our nurses nowadays."

She rolled her eyes lightheartedly. "How's Simms doing?"

"The guy from 60th?" the corporal asked, shrugging into the raincoat she had offered him. "He slept through most the night, but he seems to holding up well enough. No complications from surgery from what I could tell."

"Alright," she murmured, letting her gaze linger on the GI resting on one of the first cots. With a small smile, she gave the corporal a nod. "I can take over for a bit. Get a bite to eat while you're there, hm?"

"A true Angel amongst men, aren't you?" he said with a little wink. Emeline smiled knowingly and gave his arm a gentle smack. The gesture only made him chuckle. "Don't worry about it. Gimme five minutes."

With a curt wave, the corporal stepped out into the freezing downpour and hurried down the camp towards the mess hall. Emeline sighed softly to herself and fixed her disheveled locks back into a loose bun before turning to start another round. A GI rested on that first cot. Bandages marred in deep burgundy were wrapped across his abdomen and shoulders, but she was almost glad the extent of damage ended there. For most of the men in the housing tents, damage always ended there. Leaving him to his sleep, she trailed down the aisle, checking on the men and exchanging quiet 'good mornings' to those that were up. As she got to the middle row, she caught sight of a familiar face and smiled lightly.

"How're you holding up, soldier?" she asked quietly as she knelt beside his cot.

Recognizing that voice, Hawes's dark brown eyes glanced away from the copy of _Stars and Stripes_ on his lap. The small grin he gave her in greeting came easily. "Morning, ma'am. Not doing too badly for myself, I guess. Could be worse compared to these guys…"

Emeline watched as he took a quick look around the tent. Before long, she found herself doing the same, taking in the same images of wounded men and bandaged faces. Despite circumstance, she mustered up a little smile. "Staying in here is a good thing, soldier. It means all these men are gonna do alright." She noticed the white plaster on his arm and tapped it gently. "And you're no different either, see?"

"Guess that's a nice reassurance to hear from you, ma'am," he said with a light chuckle.

With a searching pat to her front pockets, she found her lighter and flicked it open. "Your medic told me you took quite the hit to the head yesterday."

"Only 'cause we got caught up in some kraut mortar attack on our way up here. A pillbox was up on the ridge above us and mortars started coming. Everyone tried to scatter." He lifted his stare from the newspaper on his lap and motioned to the cot beside his. "Bax here pushed us both off some ledge on the hill right when a round struck our position. We got banged up pretty good, but at least we're alive, right?"

Emeline glanced up at him. Beside them, the GI on the cot had a folded blanket covering his eyes and his knee had drawn up casually, almost looking as though he were in the middle of an afternoon nap, snoozing away toils of gloomy downpour and bitter war. Turning her head to meet dark brown eyes, the dark-haired nurse felt her lips twitch aloft.

"Sounds like you boys got a good CO in your company then." She gave the flint wheel of her lighter a good tick and the small flame danced nimbly amid the cool air. "Look into the flame for me? Alright." His pupils reacted normally and she nodded in approval. "Did you have trouble sleeping at all last night? Headache, nausea?"

"He was alright. All things considering, I guess."

Emeline turned to the owner of that brusque voice and watched as he sat upright in his cot, hissing quietly and muttering incoherent curses. The sling his right arm was in caught her attention and she smiled faintly. "Good to see you both are doing well then."

"Good enough to get back out there, ma'am?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid. But maybe you wanna take your chances of recovery out there on the frontlines, Lieutenant. Sounded awfully confident about it last time."

Hawes chuckled. "Bax here's been meaning to say something about that, ma'am."

"Has he?" she voiced in vague amusement.

The soldier fixed his friend a narrowed look. But his expression lightened slightly as he turned his gaze elsewhere. "I, uh… wanted to… apologize, ma'am. For yesterday."

She smiled and shook her head, almost insistently. "It's fine, Lieutenant. I was only teasing. I've nearly forgotten all about it, actually."

"Really?" Doubt glimmered in those steel-blue eyes. "You sure about that, Lieutenant… ah, Angel, was it?"

Suddenly, a swell of warmth touched upon her cheeks. "Actually, my name's Emeline. Emeline Frey."

"Angel seems to suit you better." She blinked, almost as if taken aback. Realizing his words, the GI cleared his throat and turned his head to look around the wards. "But, ah… I meant to apologize, Lieutenant. Pain and this damned weather ain't exactly the best combinations for me…"

"All's well, Lieutenant Baxter," she said with a soft laugh, dismissing the sudden prickle of heat in the back of her neck. "You aren't the first man to get riled up at our stations. If you really want things to be even then get some rest and heal up."

"Awfully simple conditions to get back on her good graces aren't they, Baxter?" Hawes commented with a grin.

The Lieutenant chuckled lightly. "No kidding."

"No one's ever had my bad graces before," Emeline told them simply.

Noticing the blood seeping through the bandage across Hawes's side, she crouched down and checked on it. Shrapnel damage that nicked his ribcage was minimal compared to what she had seen, and that much she was thankful for. Blood had smeared across her fingertips and patches of it dried quickly against her skin, leaving a familiar stickiness between the miniscule ridges of her fingers. The smell of it, the feel of it—it was all the same after so many weeks, the blood these men shed. And almost all were caused by similar reasons. A sense of unease pooled to the pit of her stomach. Her gaze drifted back and forth between Hawes and Baxter as she worked.

_Never scare the boys._

Those words skimmed through her mind as she glanced between the soldiers of the 28th once more. It was one of her rules, a personal creed she gave herself the first week she stepped foot into this war. Morale was like a secret weapon in soldier's private arsenal, a clandestine defense that no enemy could ever cheat or salvage. High spirits, a will to simply _fight_, were just as powerful and effective as a sniper's trusted M1903 or an artillery battalion's choice Howitzer. Even as men were evacuated to the rear, their drive either pushed them to go forward or pushed them to the edge of their limits.

Never_ scare the boys._

Slowly, she felt that guilt ebb away at her conscience. Time after time, as the days passed with the impending duties that they had all carried out, she had seen what war had done to these soldiers, these men. And time and again, she felt the urge to tell them what laid ahead, just as she had in that moment. But as much as she wished to, she never could. The burden she felt in her chest, in the very brim of her conscience, was like the hand of God Himself on her very soul; and breaking that one rule would result in her being stricken down by some divine grace.

But despite that sort of pressure she built upon herself, she couldn't think to let it all go that one time. The Hürtgenwald was a brutal place, with unforgiving terrain and unsympathetic guns on the other side of those frontlines. It was _different_ from any other place they had been.

"I've never been out there for myself…" she began to say, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. "So, I suppose I'd just be full of it and you can ignore me."

They gave her curious looks, and she sighed to herself as she wrapped the fresh dressing across Hawes's side. "If you're in the middle of the forests when heavy artillery starts and they start aiming for the treetops, _hug a tree_."

"Hug a… tree?" Baxter repeated slowly, thinking he had just misheard her.

"You want us to have a new love for nature while we're out there, ma'am?" Hawes asked with a faint grin. "I mean I was a boy scout when I was a kid and all, but…"

Despite herself, she smiled lightly. "You're making fun of me for saying that now. But it'll make more sense when you're out there."

Baxter gave her an odd look. As his gaze drifted, he began connecting the dots. He motioned to the first row of cots, where the GIs from the 60th rested with peaceful demure, and suddenly he found his voice going quiet, solemn. "Is that what happened to those fellas? Artillery attacks?"

"More or less," she murmured softly. With the bandage securely fastened, Emeline wiped her hands on her square of cloth and stood up from her crouched position. The apprehensive gleam in her eyes, even in the dim light of the lamps overhead, didn't go unnoticed by the soldiers. "That's why I wanted you to be careful out here."

"You should be saying that to Bax here more than me, ma'am. Docs won't let me back on the line anytime soon with a broken arm."

"You can still try," Baxter commented with a slight smirk.

"Yeah, I ain't holdin' my breath there, pal."

Movement at the flap of the tent caught Emeline's eye. Myers stepped back into the ward, shaking off the droplets from his hair and shrugging off the drenched raincoat. Behind him was Roark, another of their medics, shrugging out of his own coat and chatting away idly about money he lost to Yodel at poker earlier that week. Sighing softly to herself, the dark-haired nurse turned her gaze back to the GIs before her.

"Be careful out there, alright Isaac?"

He rose a brow. "You know my name?"

"I told you," she reasoned with a light smile. "I know how men are doing in my wards. Knowing your names is part of that too."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time then."

She laughed and wiped at her forehead tiredly. "As much as we like you boys, we don't want there to be a next time. Just take care of yourselves out there, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hawes said with a small grin.

"Don't worry about it, Angel."

Emeline fixed her dark mahogany eyes on the Lieutenant and saw that flicker of amusement in those steel-blue spheres. Heat prickled the back of her neck again and she could feel the rush of blood beneath her cheeks. But she said her quiet goodbyes without a further fuss and slipped on Myers's raincoat, leaving the extra housing tents for that day.

As she headed for their makeshift shelter along the tree-lines, she replayed the day's recent events to herself. Names and faces of the boys from 28th's 110th Infantry brushed through her conscience, and she stored them somewhere in the depths of her mind.

_Michael Lasley, Joe Weimer, Roger Hawes, Isaac Baxter. _

Rain pattered against the hood of her raincoat with unrelenting beats but she wasn't the least bit bothered by it. An image of that small smirk, that gleam of amusement in steel-blue orbs, sunk into her memory, and for some odd reason it gave her a peace of mind. She shook her head and rubbed her brow with a dampened hand, a subconscious habit she had taken lately. But still that small smile played across her pink lips, a simple and lovely gesture that it always was, finally done for the sake of smiling.

_Don't worry about it, Angel_.

* * *

_*__The Battle of Hürtgen Forest (starting in mid-September 1944 and ending in February 1945) was the series of battles fought between American and German armies over 50 square miles of the __Hürtgen Forest. It remains as the longest battle the US Army fought in Germany during WWII._

___*The initial goal was to prevent German armies from reinforcing the frontlines as the Americans advanced north in the Battle of Aachen. Focus was then put forth to capture the German towns of Schmidt and Monschau to gain footholds in German soil. By the end of November, American generals had aimed to cross the nearby Rur River to get to the Rhine River and thus deeper into Germany (in what's known as Operation Queen). Following through with Operation Queen, American objectives eventually focused to capture the vital damns along the Rur._

___*The toughest and more gruesome fighting occurred during the first three months in the battle for the __Hürtgenwald, from mid-September 1944 to mid-December 1944_. Combined with thick, dense, and perilous terrain well-guarded by Germans and fierce German resistance in general, the Americans suffered devastating losses over the short span of time.


	9. Chapter 8

**Edelweiss**

_Over confidence and complacency are among our deadliest of all enemies.  
__And that attitude on the part of anyone—government or management or labor—can lengthen this war. It can kill American boys._

**President Franklin D. Roosevelt – December 23, 1943**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Barrages boomed in the far off distance, muffled by the dense forested hills that swallowed those units whole. Earth stilled beneath their boots as the weeks passed, but the murmurs of artillery shells and mortars, the sporadic cadence of BARs and rifles engulfed in the Hürtgenwald's darkest depths, still continued.

Leaves above their make-shift quarters still shivered with each thundering clap, a breath of war that swept through the forest alongside the faded echos that reached their ears. Camden and Dozer and other boys tried to spread some sort of smile, shrugging it off their shoulders by cracking some halfhearted quip here or there. But there was still a small part of everyone, nurses and medics and officers and soldiers alike, that quivered at each resounding boom they heard, shivering just as the perennial leaves above their heads did.

Small pockets of bluish hues peeked through the soaring grey crests overhead. Emeline watched it with dull ease as she leant her head against the tree trunk behind her, almost dazed at seeing such a thing at all. _Color_ beyond the shades of grey, olive drab, and crimson red within the Hürtgen Forest was a rare sight to behold.

"That was left."

"That was _not_ left."

"Jan, that was left."

"For Christ… Emmy, was that right or left?"

Emeline lowered her gaze and found her friends' expectant stare on her. With a small, almost sheepish, smile she shrugged her small shoulders and hugged her knees to her chest. "Don't know. Wasn't really paying attention for a moment there."

Jane huffed like a little kid and went back to her mess kit of some mystery meat. "No help…"

"C'mon, Jan. Cough it up. One Lucky Strike for the victor."

"Yeah, yeah. Here's your damn Lucky Strike already." Jane tossed the cigarette to her friend, staring at her with stubborn pout. "You don't even smoke, for Christ's sake. Why do you keep taking mine?"

"All in the spirit of the line game, hun," Rhonda said with a grin, tucking the cigarette along with the many others in her front pocket. "Ain't much fun if I don't."

Jane made a face at her and grumbled her curses into a bite of her lunch. Emeline laughed lightly along with her friends and they continued on with the infamous line game, something Camden and Yodel had come up with some time back. One man crossed the inlayed branch across the wagon trail with his right foot, and Jane beamed triumphantly. Another moment later, an EM crossed the branch with his left and Rhonda grinned. Back and forth the game went, with the exchange of cigarettes, the occasional ration of chocolate bars, even a dollar or two.

Emeline watched on with a faint smile and allowed her gaze to wander around the group of women before her. On a downed log closest to the trail, Jane and Rhonda ate their lunches and pointed out their small wins with their forks. Elle and Leanne sat behind them on overturned supply crates, smiling as they chatted away and watched the line game with flickering interest. Winnie sat across from them, picking at her the food on her mess kit, listening with a subtle twitch of her cheeks.

For thirty minutes in their day, the nurses had an inkling of calm. A paradox amidst the grueling battles of war miles from where they were.

"Did you hear about Evelyn from Second Platoon?"

"What about her?"

"She's the tall one, yes? With the blonde hair and funny laugh? I remember her. She's very kind—especially when we were at Blandford."

Jane nodded. "She resigned, not even two weeks ago."

"Evie?" Rhonda rose her brows. "Why?"

"She's pregnant." Jane shrugged, "Or so I was told. Makes sense though. She got married about three months past when they were outside of Paris. The magic happens when they're on furlough and, well… the rest speaks for itself."

"Well, Jesus… I wished we could've seen her off before she left…" Rhonda flicked a quick glance over her shoulder. "Wasn't the guy she married one of the soldiers she patched up back when we were in Italy, Angel?"

Emeline rolled her neck to and fro, letting the movements help jog her memory as she worked a small kink out of her neck. "She's Mrs. Daniel Novak now, if I remember right."

"Right, right. Novak. Good man, that one. He took a liking to Evie since he got trucked into our wards. Got pegged in the leg by some shrapnel and Evie treated him the whole stay."

Elle chuckled softly and brushed the crumbs of biscuit off her hands. "Sounds like one of the movies they played before we got deployed to England. You know, with a nurse tending to a wounded soldier and all."

"They're both sweethearts. One of the reasons why we always thought they were perfect for each other," Emeline commented with a little smile.

"Yep. That makes her, what, the fifth nurse in the 42d to get married? Third to leave for home?"

"Good for all of 'em," Jane murmured. She laid her mess kit on the empty space beside her and gripped her tin of coffee, relishing the waning heat against her blanched fingertips. "They have a good man and get to leave for home to start their families all in one go. Lucky girls."

Rhonda flitted at her leftovers idly, lost in thought. "That'll be us too soon enough. I'll bet you a pack of Lucky Strikes on it."

Jane chuckled at the sentiment and huddled her legs closer to her body. "Yeah, we'll see about that one then."

"Rhonda could be right though," Leanne began to say. A reassuring smile graced across her features as she caught her friends' stares. "Some of the boys they trucked in earlier said they took Schmidt a few hours ago. After this… who knows what'll happen?"

"Who knows," Jane muttered in agreement, tin cup to her lips.

As the women fell into a moment of quiet, utensils scraped across tin mess kits and their noses snuffled against the cold drafts pushing through the Hürtgen's copious tree-lines. Elle turned her forest green gaze down towards the dark-haired nurse, watching as she stared off towards the sopping wagon trail, her mind far from the reaches of their circle. The WAC officer stood up and took a few paces towards her, settling down beside the tree trunk she had propped up against.

"Remember that soldier from the 28th you treated weeks back?"

"Gonna have to be more specific, Elle." Emeline flicked her gaze towards the young tech and smiled faintly. "We've treated a lot of boys from the 28th since they got here."

"He had a broken arm. He stayed at the evac hospital outside of Roetgen for six weeks till they got his cast off. An hour after that, he went AWOL and hitched a ride with Camden and Dozer when they were on their way back from transporting some of the boys."

"Roger Hawes," Emeline said with knowing sort of air. "Doesn't surprise me much."

"It shouldn't. His lieutenant didn't even wait for a day before he went AWOL himself when he was here. I remember that much."

A soft laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. "_That_ I expected."

"You still think about them?"

"Every now and then," came her honest reply. "Whenever a soldier from the 110th comes through the wards, can't help but think about it."

Elle glanced at the nurse. Her lighthearted expression became passive, her voice grew soft. "A lot of them came through earlier today."

Emeline glanced down at her hands. Impervious speckles of dirt lined her cuticles and remnants of blood, burgundy aged and darkened in the frigid mountain air, seeped under her nails. She picked at them subconsciously and murmured a quiet 'I know.'

"But," she began to say after a while, "I think they're alright. They're too damn stubborn to let something happen to them again."

"That lieutenant was especially stubborn. All I remember was seeing you telling him to go back to the housing tents to rest up. He practically said 'to hell with that' and left with the jeeps to the aid station."

The nurse chuckled. "He's a soldier. They're all like that some way or another. Stubbornness, pride—whatever it is, they all have that in common after a while."

"A willingness to fight, you mean," Elle pointed out in approval. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, staring out into the white haze that engulfed the skim trail far off in the distance. "I wonder if he knew what he was gonna get into before he left."

"He knew," Emeline replied quietly. "But even if he didn't, he still would've gone anyway. Boys who go AWOL like that always will. After the first couple of times, we understood why though. We kinda have a saying for it around here now."

"What, be stubborn as a mule?"

Emeline smiled at the notion, even laughed at the thought of it, and simply rose her voice, "We go where we gotta go."

"We do what we gotta do," the nurses around them chorused instantly.

Elle glanced at the older women with a faint gleam of surprise. After taking a moment to let it sink in, she started to repeat it to herself, grinning. "Says an awful lot, doesn't it?"

"That it does."

"You can thank ol' Rousseau for that one," Rhonda called out over her shoulder. "Always been a man good with words."

"Was I the only one who resented him for saying that at first?"

"Apparently."

"Thank you for that, Winnie," Jane muttered dryly.

Emeline sighed softly to herself and turned her gaze elsewhere, picking at her nails with idle ticks of her fingers.

As the weeks passed tension between Jane and Winnie had gradually ebbed away, but neither could say much to each other. Passing words and greetings were too forced, unnatural, even for a regular basis. They had settled with saying little to nothing at all towards one another, which almost seemed to be the only option they all had during the passing hours.

Since they stepped foot into Germany, the nurses barely had time to properly eat and sleep, much less share whole conversations with one another. Instances like that moment, where they all had a break to eat and rest, were far and wide between in their time at the Hürtgenwald. Jane and Winnie were keen on avoiding conflicts with their friends around, but small exchanges, however few words were said, still managed to leave them in a fleeting sort of stillness.

Rhonda turned around on the log, flicking her gaze between her friends curiously. She filled the silence between them with a conspicuous cough and bit the end of her fork with thoughtful taps of her teeth. "I don't know about you girls," she began to say, "but I'll be damn glad to get out of this forest. They already took Vossenack, now they've got Schmidt. Maybe a few more days and we might just be out of this hellhole."

"Funny to hear you say that, Rhon," Jane commented with grin. "What happened to the 'don't jinx it' approach you always took? Counting your chickens before they hatch there aren't ya, hun?"

"Tell hell with the chicken," Rhonda muttered. "I'll roast it if I have to."

"Poor chicken…" Leanne murmured.

"Wha… C'mon! There _is_ no chicken!" Rhonda got out in disbelief. "I'm just trying to say that things are looking up now."

Winnie threw her friend a playful look. "You sound rather hypocritical there, Rhon."

"Hey, what's hypocritical is Jan here saying she'll quit smoking. But five minutes later you'll find her with a Lucky Strike permanently wedged between her lips."

"She's learning from that one though," Emeline pointed out. "She already owes me over a hundred."

"Well, fuck me. It's that much already?"

"And still counting."

Rhonda smirked at her friend beside her and shook her head. "You girls can't say you disagree, can you? I mean look—the boys finally got these towns they've been aiming for, we got enough supplies in our hub to last us weeks, not that we're gonna need it, and this god awful weather's been lightening up for the past day and a half. Good things come in threes, my mama used to say. If these ain't good signs, I don't know what is."

Emeline leant her head against the craggy bark behind her, watching as those pockets of baby blues drifted lithely across the open expanse. Around her she heard her friends mutter in acknowledgement to Rhonda's point. No one could prove her wrong. It wasn't that they didn't care to, but she came to realize that no one _wanted_ to prove her wrong.

_Good things come in threes_.

Those words ran through Emeline's mind, brushing against the rim of all those memories where she had heard it before. Remembering them in that instant made the curl of her lips come easily. Perhaps there was some truth in those words after all.

"Afternoon, ladies."

A baritone voice reached her eardrums, pulling her back to the thick forest surrounding them. Standing beside the log was their CO, dressed in muddy combat boots, ODs that had seen better days, and a fitted tanker jacket, freshly washed and primed, a contrast to the weathered appearance the man exuded. The nurses offered their forms of greeting, a smile or wave or a quick 'afternoon, sir'. Emeline smiled and nodded her head when those hazel orbs flicked her way, watching as he returned the gesture before letting his gaze skim over the others.

"We were just talking about how we're looking forward to getting out of this forest, sir."

He smiled faintly. "Making plans for furlough already, ladies?"

"Doesn't hurt to daydream, sir," Jane said with a little grin. "It'd be nice to think we'll be getting out of here soon."

"Awfully nice thought indeed. But what you girls do here—it isn't anything short of a godsend. You should all know that. Even you, Rory," their CO said with earnest conviction. Dark hazel eyes glanced over each face, unflinching with that candid expression. "We've gone through a hell of our own out here along with these fellas. I've said the same thing to the boys in the mess hall, but you ladies—you nurses get a talk of your own."

"That makes us sound kinda special, sir," Winnie said lightheartedly.

The corner of Lewis's lips twitched and he nodded his head. "Mostly 'cause you are, Lieutenant—all of you. No one in these camps can do what you ladies do. We can be the best goddamn medic or surgeon in our units, but we men don't have that special touch you nurses have. Maybe it's women's intuition, _nurses' _intuition. Or some mumbo jumbo like that, I'd never know. But whatever it is, these men need it. Especially now, with where we are. You girls know that just as well as these soldiers do."

"Yes, sir," came their quiet murmurs.

Major Lewis sighed and lowered down to his haunches, down to the level the women were sitting on. His stare on them hadn't lessened in open conviction, but his voice, smooth and deep, lightened to a considerate tone. "When we get to Paris or London or wherever the hell it may be they're shipping us for furlough—you girls can have at it. Get all dolled up and pretty to go to some jazz club, get some GI's attention, maybe even a Tommy's. Have a few rounds of drinks, dance with some boys, and have a night on the town doing God knows what else."

Jane and Rhonda clamored in agreement. Winnie and Leanne chuckled at the notion. Emeline nudged the WAC officer who smiled along with their CO, knowing full well that it was something they were all looking forward to. The smile on Lewis's face paled somewhat, but never the gleam in his eyes. Emeline had never served under Walter Lewis's command until their campaign through Europe, but the compassion she had often heard about was as forthright and true as she imagined. His eyes, she realized, was always the most honest thing about the man.

"You girls deserve that break just as much as the other boys do. It might take a couple of weeks, but that much you can count on. But until then, I need my nurses on their toes. I can't always be in the wards, but what I see when I am there is enough for me to trust what you girls are doing. I meant to thank you for it, actually. It's an ease of mind for me knowing that I have competent nurses running these stations at all times."

"Eh… yes, sir," Jane muttered. She took a quick glimpse around her, noticing the humbled and puzzled expressions that surfaced across everyone's features. For a moment, she took solace in the fact that she wasn't the only one unsure of what to say. "But we're… only doing our jobs. Commands or not, we do what we need to."

"Good. That's what I want to hear, Lieutenant. Now, I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like this break is gonna have to end here." He stood up from his position, groaning quietly under his breath and ignoring the pops he felt in his kneecaps. "Those barrages out there are killing our boys, and those who survived it are barely getting by. Fellas from the 112th are being trucked in from Schmidt with wounded and we need to make sure we have everything in order, so I need all of you working a few more hours for this one.

Various replies of 'yes, sir' were heard as the women stood up from their makeshifts seats. Tin mess kits clattered together as they placed them onto a single pile, disregarded in some safekeeping for them to wash later. Jane stuffed her hands into the pockets of her field jacket, sighing softly to herself as she and the others headed for their stations down the camp. A thought surfaced at the brim of her mind and she turned around, throwing a curious glance at their CO.

"Sir? Mind if I ask you something?"

"You know you always can, Vinson."

She made way towards him, standing at his side to make her question impervious to the strays of eavesdropping. "Not that I don't appreciate it, sir, but why the pep-talk? If you needed us to prep for the boys from Schmidt, you only needed to give word. We would've done everything regardless."

"We've been at this for a long while, Jane," Lewis sighed. His dark hazel orbs almost dimmed at the thought. "Everyone in this platoon needs a good pep-talk to keep going. Especially you ladies."

A small smile curled Jane's lips and she nodded, accepting the answer as it was. "Well… we appreciate that then, sir."

"Get to your stations, Lieutenant Vinson," a faint grin settled upon Lewis's aged features. "We need these posts prepped in the next ten minutes."

"Yes, sir." Jane turned to continue down the camp's footpaths. With her list of duties already settled in her mind, she called after the nurses ahead of her, "Winnie, Leanne—you girls have triage. Rhon, you still have post-ops—"

"Lieutenant Frey," their CO called her name before Jane could. The dark-haired nurse came to a gradual halt and she turned around. Lewis motioned her over. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Ah… yes, sir."

Jane rose a brow at her friend as she approached, practically eying the nurse with a look that demanded 'what did you do?' But nevertheless, she patted her shoulder as she walked past and grinned faintly. "Angel, you've got post-ops with Rhon."

"Alright. Elle's under your wing."

With a nod, Jane trekked down the muddy paths towards the tented wards. Emeline watched as her friends disappeared into their stations before turning to face her platoon CO. He took off his knit cap and ran a hand through his thinning dark brown hair, sighing quietly to himself as he stared down the wagon trail with indistinct eyes.

"Am I in trouble, sir?"

He glanced at her, intrigued at the prospect. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't exactly have the best track record talking to COs like this, sir." She smiled weakly. "The last time I did, they were considering me to be a flight nurse with the 317th."

Major Lewis snorted at that, but there was no derision, no amusement. It was a humorless breath of acknowledgment, a meaningless noise. His expression turned more somber as he ran his fingers down the seams of his cap absentmindedly.

"I'm afraid it's more serious than a reassignment, Lieutenant."

"Sir?"

He pursed his lips and glanced down, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his tanker jacket. "About two days back now, I got a call in from HQ Company."

Something in her stomach clenched.

"There's no easy way to say this, Emeline…"

_Emeline_.

Seconds passed with agonizing ticks lost to the world, and eventually time itself seemed to have slowed to a nonexistent pace. The hardened air around them grew unbearably thin. Her mind ran rampant; flustered, unsettled, as her thoughts snapped to an unwanted reality.

_Give 'em hell, 'cause you know we'll do the same_.

It was her mantra, sung in the voices of her brothers that reassured her at the end of all their letters. They were words, written to her, that proved they were alright, that they were still fighting. It was a lifeline she clung vigorously to. A hope, a _prayer_, she wanted God to hear.

_Keep going. Keep at it. Give 'em hell, 'cause you know we'll do the same._

An envelope, crinkled and smudged with dirt and ink, was motioned to her. Unfamiliar strokes wrote her name, thick black lines that seemed more and more morbid the longer she stared at it. She tried to steady her trembling hands and, slowly, her slim nimble fingers tore through the envelope's seal. And slower still, the world continued on with those agonizing ticks of lost time.

"Dear Miss Emeline Frey. I have never been given a more painful… duty…" The words were slowly lost, steaming as it faded within the cold air.

Limbs felt unbearably heavy, almost as if it would make her topple over at any second. But she remained rooted in her place like an anchor amid a cruel frigid bay. Her heart stopped. Her throat tightened. Numbness coursed through her veins, rendering her body to a useless muted shell. Something in her broke, _shattered_. And those pieces sunk away to the darkest depths of her heart.

Suddenly, the world of the Hürtgenwald seemed that much more hollow and cold.

— ~ —

_October 29, 1944  
2__nd__ Lieutenant Emeline Frey, R.N.  
Army Nurse Corps  
42d Field Hospital_

_Dear Miss Emeline Frey,_

_I have never been given a more painful duty of writing this letter. But as one of the men who knew your brother best, I feel that it is a duty that I must uphold to him and to you. Please prepare yourself, because I wished by God that this letter bore better news._

_Your brother, Sebastian Gabriel Frey, Aviation Mechanist's Mate 2__nd__ Class, USN, was killed in action on the morning of October 24, 1944 during an attack on the USS Princeton. Sebastian was caught in the after-blasts of a bombing when he was trying to help others to the higher decks. But we were helpless to find that there was nothing more that we could've done to help him._

_I realize there are no words that can properly describe the sorrow and loss that you and your brother are now going through. I wish I could offer more than a letter and my deepest condolences, but my hope is that this letter will give you some comfort during this dark hour. Sebastian was a great man, a great sailor, and one of the best mechanics we had on board. His loss struck all of us to the core, and we too mourn not just for a lost sailor, but a lost brother. But you can be proud of the fact that Sebastian served for his country until his last hour, and that he died fighting against the odds, trying to save the lives of others._

_To this day, he is one of the smartest and selfless guys I have ever met. We spend days out here on the sea and all of us talk about anything and everything under the sun. Seb was really a man wise beyond his years, and he's spread that wisdom whenever we needed it most. He's always been quiet, but he spoke of you often and fondly, ma'am. You were the little sister he truly cherished alongside your brothers, and I have no doubts that you and Roderick and even TJ hold him with the same great amount of respect and love that he had for all of you. _

_On behalf of the air crew of the former USS Princeton, we offer our deepest sympathies. Our prayers are with you and Roderick, and most especially Theodore and Sebastian. If there's anything that you need or wish to ask, please give word. Every man here would be glad to help in any way possible._

_As I write this letter, I realize now that it's not just a duty that I promised to uphold to Seb, but an honor that I've been given, to recall the life of a good man. It was a privilege and a true honor to have known and serve with your brother, ma'am. And I hope you are proud of him and those who remember him._

_Most sincerely yours,_

_Ralph Ingraham  
Petty Officer, 2__nd__ Class  
Aviation Mechanist's Mate_


End file.
